


I Shall Have What Is Mine

by joinallthefandoms



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Loki Wins, Anal Sex, BDSM, Begging, Clint Needs a Hug, Collars, Dom Loki, Dom/sub, Enslaved Clint Barton, Face-Fucking, Hair-pulling, Humiliation, Hurt Tony Stark, Kidnapping, Kneeling, Loki Does What He Wants, M/M, Mind Games, Oral Sex, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Oral Sex, Slavery, Spanking, Stockholm Syndrome, Sub Tony, Submission, The Tesseract (Marvel), Tony Stark-centric, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 16:17:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 25,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2474498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joinallthefandoms/pseuds/joinallthefandoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would have happened if Tony's brilliant plan hadn't worked? The Chitauri cannot be destroyed, even by SHIELD's missile, and Tony Stark falls back to the Earth wishing for death. Rather than falling into the security of the Hulk's arms, Tony falls to Loki. The Avengers have been defeated, and the God of Mischief decides that, in addition to his former pet Barton, he will claim another Avenger as his own.</p><p>ON HIATUS</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We Have Lost

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Spoils of War](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124782) by [Limmet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Limmet/pseuds/Limmet). 



> This fic is inspired by Spoils of War by Limmet, which is an incredible fic that you should read rn. I will be using the beginning of said fic, but will veer off into a different plot soon after. Enjoy!

Tony's heart was struck by a fear he had not known since Afghanistan. For a second, he feared that the Arc Reactor had somehow failed and the shrapnel was creeping toward his heart, but he soon lost the capacity to care. He was dead, either way, so what did it matter how he went? The display on his suit died just as the missile hit a protective force field that surrounded the Chitauri space ship. He had failed. He had failed the other Avengers, New York City, and quite possibly the whole world. Wishing for a quick death as he fell back into the open portal, Tony Stark closed his eyes and said a silent goodbye to Pepper. 

The other Avengers looked up in anger, fear, and utter defeat to see the stream of Chitauri had not disappeared. They continued coming through the portal in immeasurable waves, thousand after thousand. Among the dull colors of their armor, a glint of gold fell quickly down. Steve gasped and pointed, but his teammates had already seen the falling form of their comrade. Tony was unconscious, maybe, or the suit was broken, because he was falling dangerously quickly and showed no sign of stopping. Thor was about to fly up and catch the falling Man of Iron, but was halted when Tony began slowing his descent. The team watched with bated breath as Iron Man's limp form was slowly lowered to the ground. Behind the skyscraper blocking their vision, they could not see where he had fallen, but it was an unspoken knowledge that it had to be the trickery of Loki. 

Steve turned to face the team, all of whom looked utterly defeated and exhausted. Clint, in particular, was shaking with a fear he was trying to disguise. Steve saw Natasha reach over and grasp his hand in hers, and his minute shaking paused for a moment. 

"There's nothing left to do, is there?" Asked Captain America. It was a rhetorical question, but Natasha replied all the same. 

"We have nothing left, Cap," she sighed. "I, as much as any of you, want to keep going, but to what end? Of all the ways I can die on a daily basis, I will not die at the hands of Loki's soldiers. We're not stupid enough to keep fighting a lost battle." 

Steve, with a sigh of frustration, kicked at the discarded helmet of a Chitauri, sending it flying through the broken window of a nearby building. Looking at the ruin around him, Steve realized that he would not condemn the city any further. If they were to resume the fighting, New York would be decimated all together. He could not, in good conscience, bring about the death of millions of people simply because he had a vendetta. Without his consent, a few tears trickled down his soot-covered face, leaving smeared tracks in their wake. 

Suddenly, the voice of a certain god boomed above them all. An illusion or spell, no doubt, to get his message across to the whole city. 

"People of this city," his arrogant voice sneered. "You have none left to fear of me nor my army. With a peaceful surrender, this city will escape total destruction. I am Loki, former King of Asgard and current King of Midgard, or Earth. I seek not to destroy this planet nor enslave its people. I seek only to rule, as is my divine right of birth. Any one that attempts to retaliate or attack me or my officers will face immediate execution. I, as the King of this planet, will be treated with the deference I deserve. Have all significant political figures of this city assemble, weaponless, at the Stark Tower by five this evening, or I shall lay another siege to this city until my demands are met."

Then, the booming voice left the streets eerily quiet. For a split second, the Avengers stood in confusion as to what they were meant to do, how they should respond to the threat. But then, Loki's voice invaded every one of their heads, a message clearly meant for them alone. 

"Avengers," said he, the derision in his voice sparking a mutual anger amongst them all. "How valiantly you have fought, how tragically you have lost. I and your Man of Iron are at Stark Tower, he unconscious and I awaiting your surrender. Pending your arrival, we shall discuss the terms of your subjugation. I expect your attendance in no less than an hour."

The disappearance of Loki's voice was as sudden as its arrival, leaving the broken team in utter disbelief and anger. How presumptuous of Loki to assume that they would simply kneel at his feet and assume that he alone could determine their fate. However, this anger soon dissipated into a reluctant acceptance. What would happen if they did not go? What of Tony? Where could they even go to escape Loki? Certainly nowhere in the country, much less the city. Steve glanced around at his teammates, all of whom bore grim faces. Thor's face was unreadable, though, like the ocean before a storm. 

"Let's go," said Natasha, taking the initiative and breaking the suffocating silence. She, still holding Clint's hand, stopped suddenly when he tugged her back. She had never known Barton to be weak, had never even seen him show fear, but the trepidation was clear in his eyes and trembling form. 

"I can't," he said, his voice shaky and uncertain. "I can't see him again."

"Just an hour ago you were prepared to put an arrow in his head, Clint," Natasha pointed out, a hint of irritation crawling into her voice. They all had problems, they all had fears, and Clint needed to recognize that he wasn't the only one that was reluctant to face the God of Mischief. 

"That was when we had a fucking chance, Nat!" Clint barked, throwing out his arms in anger. "Look around you! Do you think he'll let us live, knowing that we're capable of doing all this? This isn't going to be a negotiation, it's a fucking execution."

"I'd rather die facing him than cowering with my head between my knees," Natasha said coldly. Without glancing back, she strutted off in the direction of Stark Tower, her confident walk betraying none of her fear. 

"C'mon, Barton," Steve said, clapping a reassuring hand on the sniper's shoulder. "If he was going to kill us, why would he have kept Tony alive?" It was a weak point, sure, but it was something. Steve wrapped an arm around Barton and started after Natasha. Clint, while still reluctant, fixed his bow over his shoulder and somehow forced his feet into movement. The Hulk followed behind sullenly, his underlying anger at Loki fueling his form and preventing him from turning back into Banner. None of them knew if this was a good thing or bad. 

Thor was the last to follow, his grip on Mjölnir tight and vengeful. He felt as though he were to blame for Loki's crazed vendetta. He did not feel fear in that moment, as the other Avengers did, but guilt and anger.

The fallen team limped and shuffled through the rubble-strewn streets of New York, entirely unsure of what would become of them in the next hour.


	2. The Taste Of Freedom Was Sweet

An obvious gloom had fallen over the Stark Tower. Knowing that Loki was in there, sitting atop his throne a victor, was sickening. Thor was the first to walk through the shattered glass doors that once led to the grand lobby. Natasha followed, and then came the Hulk and Steve. It took Clint a moment to steady his breathing before he too proceeded into the building. The Avengers piled into the elevator, the rock elevator music doing little to dissipate the stifling tension that lay between them. It was an unspoken but communal fear that they all felt. Clint was already biting the inside of his cheek in anxiety. Thor's knuckles were white with his grip on Mjolnir. The Hulk was just a meretricious disguise meant to hide the quaking Bruce Banner that lay within. Steve was holding his shield tight to his body, trying to conjure up a last pep talk for his defeated team. And Natasha was standing just before the elevator doors, fighting a silent battle against her thoughts. 

The door opened much too quickly, and with a much too cheery  _ding._ The Avengers clamored out of the huge elevator (built by Tony himself to accommodate for the Hulk's size) and shuffled into the living room they once considered their safe house. This was their place of solace, it was an imitation of something like home. It was with regret and pain that they realized that Tony wouldn't be greeting them with drinks and movies. It was with a pang of sadness that they realized that JARVIS had not said a word. And, it was with a burst of rage that they looked upon the God of Mischief, who was sat upon the couch like the regal King he imagined himself to be. 

"Avengers," Loki addressed them, the haughtiness in his voice disgustingly obvious. "So lovely to see you."

"Where is the Man of Iron?" Thor demanded, looking around the room for a sign of his quick-witted friend. 

"You oughtn't address your King with such disrespect,  _brother,"_ Loki spat, emphasizing "brother" with a sick grin. "You shall see your precious Man of Iron when you are knelt before me."

"Show us where Tony is, or we'll tear that fucking smirk off your face," Natasha threatened, drawing a knife from her sleeve. 

Loki laughed disdainfully, seeming to all the world like he was a bemused grizzly bear being threatened by a small mouse. "And what of my Chitauri? Or the powers of the Tesseract? You know not who you are meddling with, you mewling quim. You never have."

"Guys," Steve said, looking at his team. "He could have killed him, for all we know. I need to know he's alive." And with that, Captain America knelt. He was biting his tongue with agonizing strength and drawing blood. Always the voice of reason, he tucked away his pride in the hopes of seeing his friend. His teammate. 

The Hulk was the next to kneel, though he still stood taller than Loki. Barton followed, trying valiantly to not be seen. Then went Thor. But Natasha still stood, gripping her knife with a hand trembling with rage. Steve tugged at her pant leg, trying desperately to avoid an unneeded confrontation. Throwing down her knife, Natasha knelt, ducking her head to avoid Loki's contemptuous stare. 

The God of Mischief, a victorious grin on his face, stood up. He called out in a strange, throaty language, and two Chitauri entered the room with Tony held between them. He had been removed from his Iron Man suit, and even with that robotic layer of protection, he had sustained some injuries. His face was heavily bruised and he was limping badly. 

"This is what happens when you regard your King with insolence," Loki sneered, gesturing to Tony's wounds. 

"Fuck you and your Danny Zuko haircut," Tony spat, shooting the Avengers a quick wink. Loki chuckled before driving a fist into the man's gut. The Chitauri released him just as he fell to his knees, gasping for breath as a trail of blood dribbled down his chin. He wheezed, doubled over on the floor, as Loki tilted his chin up with the end of his scepter. 

"So rude, Man of Iron," he sneered, digging the blade into Tony's chin. "No wonder you have been tortured before."

"What do you fucking want with us?" Natasha said, unable to bear the tension much longer. It was the first thing she had learned in her S.H.I.E.L.D training: Don't get frustrated, don't get angry, don't let your captors see anything. But, she figured, since she was going to die anyway, she might as well die the Russian she was born: angry and impertinent. 

"Ah, yes," Loki said, turning back to the other Avengers and letting Tony fall back onto the floor, clutching at his stomach. 

"I have decided that, as the victor of this war, I am entitled to my spoils," Loki said, pacing the floor in front of the team. "I shall keep two of you Avengers as my own, my slaves, and the rest of you will be imprisoned. Your treatment in prison will be determined solely by your behavior. Naughty prisoners ought to be punished, don't you think?" 

"What do you need slaves for?" Steve asked, fighting through the fear that threatened to suffocate him. "You have all of New York under your rule. What would you do with two of us?"

Loki grinned maniacally. "Anything I want."

"Now, the question is," said the God of Mischief. "Who will I have? The super solider, perhaps? Or maybe the assassin. A genetic mutation? Or a hawk?"

"Barton," Loki decided, gesturing at his once, and now again slave. Barton quaked in fear, shaking his head. He couldn't believe it. He had his brain back and now it was going to be taken. As Loki stretched an arm out toward him, he darted back until his back was against the wall. 

"We could do this the easy way or the hard way, Hawk," Loki threatened, raising his scepter. "Surrender yourself willingly and stay in command of your mental faculties, or fight a useless fight and fall under the influence of the Tesseract once again." Trembling from head to toe, Clint stood up and tentatively walked forward. It wasn't even a decision; He would never let that thing fuck up his mind again. His pride or his sanity? It was easy to choose. He knelt before Loki and bowed his head as he was trained to do. 

"You remember your training," Loki observed. "Good boy."

The other Avengers couldn't bear to watch this. None of them, except maybe Steve, wanted to trade places with Clint. They felt pity and sympathy, but in no plausible scenario would they go completely Hunger Games and sacrifice themselves to save Barton. Besides, it was too late. Loki had made his choice. 

"And now, for the other one," Loki said, fixing every Avenger with a cold, analytical gaze. He considered Natasha for a moment, and then Steve, and then the Hulk. But then he turned around and went back to Tony, who was not-so-quietly coughing blood into his palm. 

"I will have you as well, Man of Iron," he said with finality, fixing his gaze on Tony's arc reactor rather than his eyes. 

"Like hell you will," Tony croaked, making a move to get up and walk away. 

With a sick grin, Loki slammed the butt of his scepter down on Tony's head, causing him to fall unconscious. He called the Chitauri back and gave the other Avengers a little wave before his servants fell upon them, dragging them away. 


	3. I Know Why The Caged Bird Doesn't Want To Fucking Sing

Tony awoke to a throbbing pain in his head. Believing it to be another hangover, he called out to JARVIS for one of those stupid herbal tea things Pepper had bought. When he received no reply, Tony sat up in alarm. The sudden movement caused waves of nausea to cascade throughout his body, starting at his head and ending in the pit of his stomach. Tony blinked the sleep from his eyes and found that he was in a cell. It was dark and absolutely filthy, with only a single window at the very top of the wall on his right-hand side. The only light in the room was provided by his arc reactor, which emitted a dull glow. The genius in him already picking up on the situation, Tony surveyed his dank surroundings. He was curled up in a corner atop a raggedy, threadbare blanket that was maybe blue once. The cell itself was tiny, as wide as he was tall and perhaps twice as long. Accustomed to the extravagant sizes of his tower, Tony immediately felt claustrophobic. 

He felt caked blood on the side of his face and reached a hand up to probe his head. The source of the blood (and probably his headache) was a gash on the very top of his head. Wincing as he touched it, Tony estimated it to be a deep cut. The bruises that surrounded it were phenomenal, aggravating at the slightest touch. With a sigh, Tony tried to remember the people he could have pissed off badly enough to justify imprisonment. With a combination of sigh and snarl, Tony remembered everything. How he had fallen from space, only to land at the God of Mischief's feet. How he was dragged from his suit and imprisoned in his own house. How Loki had decided that he and Clint would be his slaves...

With a jolt, Tony thought of Clint. Where was he? He hoped, for the archer's sake, that Loki hadn't yet used his magic staff of destiny to mess with his brain. He had seen Clint after his first enslavement, and it wasn't pretty. He had once said, jokingly, that he had lost the title of "Biggest case of PTSD" to Clint, only to be met by Natasha's angry glare and her just-as-angry fist in his stomach. With another sigh, he thought of the other Avengers. His team. His friends. They had been imprisoned because he failed. All of this, anything that happened to him in that cell, would be his fault because he couldn't save everyone. His stomach churning with nausea and guilt, Tony managed to fall back into another restless sleep. 

**...**

He was awoken some time later by a loud bang. He turned around quickly. but could not find the source of the noise in the dark. He sat up, wincing as he was assaulted by queasiness and pain, and squinted through the darkness to see a tall figure standing at the other end of the cell. Tony just registered a snap of fingers before his body was inexplicably thrown against the wall. His head hit the stone with a dull thud, making his other injury throb and bleed. With a growl, Tony kicked and fought against the chains that were snaking toward him from the upper corners of the wall. His wrists and ankles were bound with cold, jagged metal that immediately dug into the skin. 

"What the fuck?" He yelled, still unable to see his attacker. Well, he had a good idea of who it was, but not being able to see was a huge hindrance for him. 

"Anthony Stark," came a smooth, silky, way-too-fucking-arrogant-for-Tony's-liking voice. 

"Loki Odinson," Tony sneered. "But, wait, isn't it Laufeyson, anyway? My bad." Tony sent Thor a mental high-five for telling him Loki's backstory before the battle. 

"It is neither," Loki replied coolly. "To you, I am Master, my King, or my Lord."

"Yeah," Tony snorted. "Keep holding on to that dream, Reindeer Games."

Loki's form shimmered in green light for a moment, blinding Tony and causing him to close his eyes, before he reappeared before the man and backhanded him across the face. Tony winced as the blow drew blood from his inner cheek, filling his mouth with the revolting metallic taste. 

"You will learn deference, Man of Iron," Loki sneered, his cold eyes fixed on Tony's warm ones. "You will become a willing servant of your King."

"'Willing'?" Tony said, "No. 'Servant'? No. Doesn't really sound like me." Loki slapped him again, on the very same spot. The sound cracked in the tense silence of the room. Tony struggled against his bonds, which proved to be very tight. His struggling only caused the shackles to chafe against his skin, drawing little droplets of blood. 

"I will leave you here to ponder your decision, then," Loki said calmly, turning around. "I shall be back when you are ready to apologize."

"So, you're coming back to collect my dead body?"

"Fear not, Anthony," Loki said over his shoulder. "I like my toys too much to let one of them break. Especially if it is not by my hand.":

For that, Tony had no response. He hated when that happened. He was Tony Snark, always ready with a witty retort. But, the fear creeping into his chest stopped him from replying. With a snap of his fingers, Loki released Tony from the shackles just before he exited through the door. He left Tony on his knees, rubbing at the irritated skin of his wrists. The door slammed with a resounding bang, once again separating Tony from the outside world. The inventor winced at the burning in his wrists and crawled back into his corner, his pride as wounded as his skin. He ignored the rumbling of his stomach as he lay down, turning his back on the door; turning his back on the whole fucking world. 


	4. Who Has Taken Your Wings, Little Hawk?

Tony's sleep was restless and uncomfortable. Such was to be expected, of course, because he was sleeping on a  _fucking stone_ _floor,_ but he didn't expect better accommodations from the God of Mischief. He awoke with a pain in his back to match the one in his head, as well as a growling stomach.

He figured it had been- what?- two or three days since he was imprisoned, so three or four since he had last eaten. His Schwarma plans had kind of been interfered with, after all. He faintly remembered the snack he had on the Helicarrier, but not much more than that. He was a man prone to self-neglect, so he was accustomed to a lack of food in his stomach. He would stay cooped up in his workshop for days on end, only emerging at Pepper's demand and JARVIS' interference with the technology. So, when he awoke to a gnawing pain in his belly, he paid it little mind. He could last for the next several days, easily. His main concern was water. 

His throat was dry, irritating him and making him cough. His mouth refused to moisten, generating very little saliva as he tried to suck on his own tongue. His hunger, his thirst, it wouldn't have mattered to him if he could just  _do_ something. In his workshop, he was occupied and focused, so he didn't even notice that he was hungry. But here in his cell, his attention was forced upon his growling stomach and cracked throat. He recited thousands of digits of pi, recalled the serial numbers of his various products in chronological order, and alphabetized all his memorable one-night stands. He was still bored. 

It didn't help that the cell was cold, either. Every breath was one of crisp air, which stole every minute speck of moisture from his mouth. He wrapped himself in the thin blanket, but this really did nothing to warm his shaking body. With a sickening flash in his mind, he remembered all the frozen nights in Afghanistan. He remembered the fear that his limbs would freeze and he'd lose his hands. He remembered the numbing, agonizing frigidity that spread from the tips of his ears to his toes. As he struggled back into reality, Tony shivered miserably and tried to think of anything else. 

Stuck in a daydream, Tony was jarred from his stupor when his cell door opened with a creak. He straightened up immediately, wary of the darkness and whatever lurked within it. Another body was thrown into the space with a dull thud, and a groan sounded in the previously silent room. The cell door closed again, leaving him alone with whomever they had thrown in. Tony heard an impressive flurry of curses as the figure sat up, revealing a bloodied and bruised face. 

It was Clint. 

"Barton?" Tony ventured, his voice scratchy and small. "Is that you?"

"Tony?" Barton asked, squinting through the darkness. "Fuck, I can't see anything. Yeah, it's me. You okay?"

"Okay?" Tony scoffed. "Yeah, I'm grand. 5 star accommodations, as you can see."

Clint let out a forced chuckle, drawing himself up to sit against the wall next to Tony. "You got any food?"

"No."

"Water?"

"Nothing."

"Fuck," Clint sighed. 

"Are you good, man?" Tony suddenly asked, trepidation leaking into his heart. "You're not, uh, like-"

"Loki's blue-eyed bitch?"

Tony let out a mixture of a sigh and a lazy chuckle. "Guess not, then."

"No," Clint said, his eyes glazing over in recollection. "Loki said he would observe me and then determine whether he wanted me under his control or not. The fucker thinks this is all some sort of game."

"Well, for him, it probably is," Tony pointed out. He hadn't missed the fear in his friend's voice. He heard the trepidation that lurked beneath Clint's confident exterior. The PTSD, the fear that it would all happen again; Tony felt it too. He just didn't know how to say it. 

"His control is in Europe now," Clint said. "I heard a news broadcast in the van they brought me here in."

"In just a couple days?" Tony asked. "It would seem that the Earth is monumentally fucked."

"I give it another week before he gets it all," Clint said apathetically. "You know, I really thought we had him for a second. I really thought we were gonna beat him."

"So did I," Tony sighed, pushing away the guilt that was proliferating throughout his entire body. "Earth's Mightiest Heroes, beaten by a petulant teenager trying to win a dick-measuring contest with an entire planet."

"Please," Clint said. "If it had really been a dick-measuring contest, we all know who would have won."

"Natasha," they said in unison. The two of them burst into a fit of giggles, letting the pain ebb away with every broken laugh. Tony's throat burned, but he ignored it. This was most likely his last opportunity to laugh for a very long time, so damn his throat. 

"If she were here, she'd kill us," Clint sniggered, allowing the laughter to die away. The mood fell somber once more. Natasha  _wasn't_ with them, that was the thing. None of the Avengers were with them. Tony and Clint both seemed to realize this as they allowed silence to fall between them. 

"Well, I'm gonna try to go to sleep," Clint muttered, turning on his back. 

"Here," Tony offered, removing the blanket from his shoulders. He tried to disguise his shiver as a cough as he lay the dirty rag over Clint's body. The archer hummed in appreciation before his breathing slowed and he dropped off into sleep. Tony had always envied people that could fall asleep quickly. His mind was too busy, his thoughts too intrusive, for him to ever fall asleep that fast. 

With Clint asleep, Tony was left with nothing but silence in the dark room. His shirt bathed in the dim light of his arc reactor, Tony slid down beside Clint and rested his head on the stone floor. With a sigh, he allowed his demons to overtake his consciousness , following willingly as they led him into a place of peace and rest. Whether it would be a reprieve from his pain or a nightmare to make it worse, Tony didn't know, but he fell willingly into the waiting arms of sleep, not looking back over his shoulder to the depraved life he was leaving. 


	5. It's Not Like Waking Up Is Going To Make It Any Better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... = passing time.  
>  I would just like to say thank you to all my supporters because you guys keep me inspired and motivated to keep writing. <3

_BANG! BANG!_ _Gunshots resonated in Tony's mind, making his brain shudder and recoil at the noise. He felt a searing pain in his chest as he stumbled through the darkness, unable to staunch the flow of blood that had no obvious source. He wasn't even sure that it was his blood at this point. He just ran and ran, never looking back at the gunshots that fired behind him. He ran for weeks, for years, before his legs finally gave and he fell down onto hard stone. He coughed up blood and the blue light of his arc reactor gave out. He lay there on the ground, shaking and covered in blood, as the shrapnel crept into his heart and claimed it as its own._

 _"_ Stark! Stark!" Barton yelled, jerking the man's shoulder. Tony yelled out a most agonizing plea, but did not awake. He was bathed in a cold sweat, his whole body trembling and his face contorted in an invisible pain. Barton had been awoken by Tony's first scream nearly an hour ago, and even despite his greatest efforts, Barton could not wake him from his nightmare. With a grunt, he caught the fist Tony sent haphazardly firing his way. Barton locked down his arms and straddled his hips, making movement impossible. Tony still jerked and screamed, but the movements were secure and he could not harm himself. 

As hard as he dared, Barton slapped Tony across the face. "Wake up, Stark!"

Tony was jarred from his horrific nightmare by the stinging pain in his face. As he slowly came to, he registered his smarting cheek as well as a pressure on his hips and abdomen. He blinked through teary eyes to see Barton perched above him, concern written all over his face. Tony stifled a sob and tried to still his trembling body, but it was to no avail. Tears spilled over his cheeks as the shaking grew worse. With a look of sympathy, Clint rolled off his comrade and sat him up against the wall. The pair leaned against the stone, Clint with his legs crossed and Tony with his spread out before him. Clint wrapped a tentative hand around Tony's shoulder and squeezed, hoping to remind him that, as bad as the nightmare was, reality was better. Well, maybe. 

"Trying to m-make a move, Barton?" Tony chuckled, his voice weak and completely devoid of emotion. 

"You're not really my type," Clint replied. He didn't withdraw his arm because he noticed that Tony had kind of leaned into his touch. His shaking was a little less intense, anyway. 

"You mean I don't have red hair and tits?" Tony asked sarcastically. 

"Even if you did, you'd still have that god-awful face."

"I'll have you know that my face is plastered on billboards around the world. People make masks of my face and dress up as me for Halloween. This face is fucking iconic."

"Yeah, yeah, fine, Tony. You're really very pretty and the rest of us are all peasants in comparison."

"Thank you for admitting it."

With a small grin, Barton picked up the discarded blanket and wrapped it over their shoulders. It really didn't do anything, but it theoretically was supposed to provide warmth, so he figured it couldn't hurt. Tony curled into his side a bit, but just a bit. 

"No chick-flick moments, Barton," Tony murmured, resting his head on Clint's shoulder. 

"No homo, Stark," he replied, leaning his cheek against the top of Tony's head. Clint Barton was meant to be a tactician, and Tony Stark was meant to be a cold and apathetic womanizer. Who would have thought that they would have ended up here, of all places? Curled up into one another under the pretense of sharing heat, but for the true intention of sharing comfort. Clint barely registered that Tony's shaking had stopped completely before he began to doze off. With his arm wrapped around Tony, Clint fell into a comforting sleep. With Clint's arm wrapped around him, Tony stayed awake and tried to fend off sleep. 

_**....** _

Just as Tony was beginning to almost, maybe drift off into a nap, their cell door opened with a metallic bang. Clint jarred awake but kept his protective arm around Tony as he squinted through the darkness. His sniper eyes were better than Tony's, especially in the dark, so he saw the tall figure before his companion did. It was a good thing that shivering in cold and fear were practically the same thing. 

With a snap of fingers, a small orb of light appeared above them, hovering inches below the ceiling. The light revealed to the duo the intimidating form of Loki, who was strutting forward cockily. Tony was once again aware of his agonizingly painful hunger as well as his cracked throat. He knew he would need food and water soon if he was to survive, but there was no way in Hell that he was going to beg for it. His pride took the driver's seat and his problems were stuffed in the trunk, as per usual. 

"How comforting," Loki taunted, standing just feet away from his pets. "That my broken little Hawk tries to fix the mental state of his little companion. How cute, how naive of you to think that you can somehow reverse the effects of torture. If you think it is bad now, I welcome you to imagine the difficulty of comforting him after I have broken him. How can you, someone as broken as yourself, Barton, hope to fix another human being?"

"I am not broken," Clint growled, clenching the fist that was not wrapped around Tony. With a little wriggle, Tony silently told Clint to let go. Hawkeye complied, retracting his arm and allowing Tony to slip back into the corner of the cell. Loki barely seemed to notice Stark's movement because all his attention was focused on his Hawk. 

"But you are," Loki hissed. "You are shattered, never to be repaired. Perhaps it was your depraved childhood. Perhaps it was Budapest. Perhaps it was the influence of my Tesseract. But you and I both know what lays beneath that cocky exterior. We both know the workings of your mind, the terrible, repressed memories that were stuffed into nooks and crannies. We both know how truly broken you are, little Hawk. I was optimistic enough to hope that you had not forgotten the first rule of your training all those days ago: Don't lie to the God of Lies." Loki raised his scepter in warning, and Clint's face paled. His gray-green eyes filled with unmistakable fear. The veins in his muscled arms grew taut as his whole body tensed. He was scared. He was a bird with broken wings that was being taunted by a wolf with gleaming white teeth. He wanted nothing to fly away, but he was caged. Helpless. 

"You remember, don't you, Hawk?" Loki cooed, stepping forward threateningly. "You remember all I had you do, the unspeakable commands that you willingly-eagerly, followed. You remember how the Tesseract wiped away all the pain, all the regret."

"None of my thoughts were my own," Clint said, his voice shaking minutely. "I didn't remember who I was, or why I was doing what I was doing. You played with my fucking mind, you sick cun-"

"You always did have such a dirty mouth, Hawk," Loki said, raising his scepter. "I can remedy that problem."

"No!" Clint yelled, the scepter descending upon him. He wanted to run, to fly away, but there was nowhere to go. "Please! No!"

Loki grinned maniacally as he touched the tip of the scepter to Clint's chest. Tony watched with bated breath as tendrils of blue worked their way down Clint's body, weaving and capturing him in their sick embrace. His eyes flashed blue and he stood automatically.

"Kneel," Loki commanded, looking down upon his pretty pet with satisfaction and arrogance. Clint obliged, falling to his knees on the stone. Tony heard the thump of skin against stone and winced, but Clint's face betrayed none of the pain he was surely feeling.

"Do you remember what rule 2 was, Hawk?"

"No cursing without your express permission, Sir."

"And rule 3?"

"Kill any and all Avengers upon sight, SIr."

"Look to your left, Hawk," Loki commanded. Clint's neck snapped in that direction so quickly that Tony heard a crack. His breathing quickened as Clint darted forward. A hand closed around his neck and squeezed, depriving him of air. Tony was too weak without his suit to fight off a trained assassin. He shot a look at Loki, who was evidently enjoying the show.  Was this how he was going to die? By Clint's hand? Tony was just on the precipice of unconsciousness when the blade of the scepter separated them. Without a word, Loki drained Clint of the influence of the Tesseract, returning him to his normal state of being. Barton's eyes returned back to their normal shade of gray and his murderous glare turned into an expression of horror and fear.  

"Tony!" He gasped, looking over his friend for more injuries. "Oh god, oh god, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

"It wasn't you, Clint," Tony muttered, drawing himself up into a sitting position. "It's fine."

"It was my fault," Clint muttered, drawing into himself. "My fault my fault my fault." He tucked himself into the corner of the cell next to Tony's and wrapped his arms around his knees. He could barely register that Loki was still there, looking upon him with contempt and a slight grin. 

"And now," he said, turning to Tony with a sadistic gleam in his eyes. "It is your turn."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger, guys. (but not really. hehehehe)
> 
> I think I have worked out a regular-enough schedule for updates. You can expect them to typically be uploaded on Saturdays or Sundays, and maybe another odd chapter during the week. Thank you for your comments, kudos, and support!


	6. Damn That Fucking Blue Wand Of Destiny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your support. Kudos and comments are always appreciated!

"Hawk has told me that you were tortured in a foreign land," Loki purred, his eyes fixed on Tony's arc reactor. The inventor could not speak, his fear was too great. Loki had said that it was his turn. His turn? He was going to be tortured again, and the gruesome images of his time in Afghanistan flashed through his head like lightning, striking quickly and burning his brain. 

Loki's mischievous turned into a slight frown when Tony offered no reply. "I expect an answer when I speak to you, pet." Tony had begun stuttering in indignation when Loki turned to Clint, who was watching the debacle with teary eyes. With a snap of Loki's fingers, Clint's eyes closed and he fell into a deep sleep.

"What the hell?" Tony asked, turning to look at his friend. "What did you do to him?"

"Fear not," Loki said, turning back to his toy. "He is only asleep. He will awake in a few hours." Tony wanted to ask why Loki had put Clint to sleep, but he feared the answer. Were Loki's plans for torture too gruesome for Barton to see? The God of Mischief turned his back on the inventor, walking back to the door with his shoulders thrown back in pride and arrogance. 

"Come," he commanded, beckoning for Tony. 

"Where?" 

Loki snarled and strode back toward his pet. Within a second, he had Tony by the neck, his feet dangling above the ground. His fingers dug into the bruises of Clint's hands, making Tony wince as his oxygen was abruptly cut off. 

"Do not test me, pet," Loki growled. "You will come when I command you, and do so without question. I haven't the time nor the care to be dealing with your insolence as well as your intransigence." With that, he dropped Tony to his knees. The inventor coughed and spluttered, gulping down what little air he could through chapped lips. 

"Come," Loki commanded again. Tony made a move to stand, but Loki stopped him by pushing down on his neck with his boot. Tony's face smashed into the stone ground, causing blood to flow from his nose. The leather sole of Loki's boot wrung the skin of his neck, making him hiss in pain. 

"No," the God of Mischief said. "Crawl."

"Fuck you," Tony gasped, trying to throw the god's weight off him. It was to no avail; Loki was too strong. 

"So be it," Loki sneered. He grabbed his scepter and placed its tip at the back of the man's head. He whispered an incantation and blue wisps of smoke came pouring out of the scepter. Tony screamed as the blue smoke settled onto his skin, burning it and causing it to become angry and red. It would seem that his arc reactor could do nothing to battle the effects of the Tesseract, after all. Loki had found away around it. 

With a gasp, Tony felt the foreign power overtake him. He felt a calm go over his mind and body, clearing it of all pain and trouble. He did not remember why he was on his knees, or why he was in a cell, but he did remember that he had defied his King.

"I'm sorry, Sir," he said, his remorse genuine and raw. Master was good; he was everything. Tony was nothing, and Master was trying to make him something. He should not have treated Master with such disrespect. 

"You are forgiven, Pet," Loki cooed, removing his leather boot from Tony's neck. "Now, come." Tony obliged willingly, crawling after his Master as he led him out the door. Some people stared at them as they made their way down a white corridor, but he paid them no mind. They were devoted to Master, so he didn't need to worry or attack. His mind grew blanker and blanker as a numbness in his knees developed.

Finally, Master led them into a sterile white room. It was completely bare, but it was clean. Tony crawled to the middle of the room and remained kneeling, waiting for his Master to tell him what to do. Tony heard footsteps behind him and relished in the comfort of Master's presence. He then felt a stabbing pain in his head where Loki jabbed the scepter. He felt the calm shroud leave him as his eyes faded from blue to brown. He gasped as the last wisp of smoke rose from his skin and returned to the scepter. Tony trembled as he was left without the comfort of the alien calmness. He was only calm when he was really, really drunk. It was nice to feel when sober. 

"You bastard," Tony gasped between breaths. His head was spinning, his heart was weighed down with fear and confusion. He both hated the Tesseract's power for making him so obedient and loved it because it wiped away all the bad thoughts. He knew he couldn't want it; he shouldn't. But he had so many bad thoughts. Loki sneered before kicking his pet in the ribs. Hard. Tony fell onto his side, clutching at his ribs. His breath came in pants as pain invaded his torso. 

"What have I taught you about being disrespectful?" Loki asked condescendingly, making his scepter disappear into thin air with just a snap of his fingers. Tony didn't answer, but that was evidently the wrong thing to do, because Loki pressed a boot down onto his bruised ribs. 

"I think I deserve an apology, pet," Loki sneered, pressing down harder on Tony's ribs with his boot. The inventor gasped in pain as the pressure increased, but kept his lips pressed firmly shut. He wouldn't go down without a fight, if only for the sake of his sanity. Loki continued to increase the pressure, a sadistic gleam growing in his eyes with every ounce of strength he poured into his boot. Tony struggled to breathe under the pressure, under the pain. Loki's weight on his ribs was unrelenting, growing and growing until Tony could take it no longer. A second before he felt it, he heard an audible cracking noise. His torso erupted in agony as one of his ribs cracked under the weight of Loki's boot. 

"I'm sorry!" He yelled, sobbing. "I'm sorry, Sir!" Loki smirked arrogantly as he removed the crushing weight from his pet's lungs. Tony gasped as the pressure left him, leaving the burning pain of a cracked rib in its wake. Every breath drawn was shaky and painful. Every small movement was agonizing, sending waves of anguish cascading throughout his broken body. 

 "Barton told me that you have endured torture before, pet," Loki said, pacing in front of the trembling form of the inventor. 

"Y-yes, sir," Tony wheezed, clutching at his side. He was still laying on the ground, for he could not bear even the slightest movement to readjust his position. 

"How?" Loki asked, his gaze growing from sadistic to pensive quickly. 

Tony hesitated. He was reluctant to give Loki the very tools he needed to torture him. Still, the burning pain in his ribs served as a reminder to not test the god's patience. Well, at least not now. 

"W-water," he croaked, his eyes flitting up to meet Loki's. 

"Why would water be used as an instrument of torture, Stark?"

"They attached electric wires to me and shoved my head underwater until I agreed to build them a weapon," Tony groaned.

He had since grown past the time where even the word "water" triggered him, but the cruel images that flashed through his head were as agonizing as the pain in his ribs. He had thought that he had escaped the pain of Afghanistan, of the torture he had endured there. But then came the nightmares, the hallucinations, the paralyzing fear that struck him whenever he even looked at the shower. And, once he had finally become a functioning person again, he was left at Loki's mercy. His heart trembled in fear at the very prospect of that torture being used against him again. For months after his imprisonment in Afghanistan, even the most expensive European water bottles tasted of the tepid, dirty water they had forced him into. Even the most lavish, extravagant showers reminded him of the slough he faced nearly every day. Even his arc reactor, his very heart, reminded him of his pain. He could not do this again. He simply wasn't strong enough. 

"The glowing orb in your chest," Loki suddenly said, jarring Tony from his thoughts by poking the arc reactor with the tip of his boot. "What is it?" At that, Tony really hesitated. An instrument of torture was bad enough, but to reveal his greatest weakness? His proverbial "off" button? He would not give Loki so much power. 

"I haven't the time nor the patience, Stark," Loki threatened. "Answer my question or return to your cell with much more than just a broken rib."

"It's-" Tony said. "It keeps me alive."

Loki's interest was obviously piqued. He bent down and reached a hand out to touch the reactor. Tony recoiled but did not shrink away from Loki's surprisingly gentle touch. He fought to stay still as the God of Mischief poked and prodded at his life support. Suddenly, Loki began to twist the reactor so it began pulling out of Tony's chest. The inventor's breath hitched as he felt the wires pull taut against his pull. 

"No!" He exclaimed, stuck in place by the threat looming over his head. "Don't. Don't pull it out." Tony was sweating heavily. If he moved back, he would cause the arc reactor to pull out all the way. If he moved forward to try to push it back in, he was just closer to Loki. The god's eyes twinkled in curiosity and interest as he surveyed Tony's look of intense fear. 

"Why are you the only human equipped with this device?"

"It keeps pieces of shrapnel from crawling towards my heart and killing me," Tony said quickly. He surveyed Loki's face for a reaction, but received none. He waited with bated breath as the god studied the intricate machinery inside his pet's heart. With a sickening grin that made Tony nervous, Loki withdrew from him. The inventor quickly scrambled to put the reactor back in, letting out a deep sigh when he felt the minute whir of electricity in his chest cavity. 

"An injury you sustained during your imprisonment in the other Midgardian region, I assume?"

"Yes," Tony said. Loki raised an eyebrow and frowned slightly, causing Tony to hasten to add the "Sir". 

 Suddenly, Loki pressed the tip of the scepter to Tony's chest. The inventor barely had time to react before his heart seized with a pain he had never known. Every nerve in his body screamed and writhed as the light of his reactor grew ever brighter. Loki watched with satisfaction as a blue mist swirled and pooled in the gem of his scepter, emitting a bright blue storm of light. Tony screamed in agony as the pain continued, driving him from sanity and into a world of anguish. He had known pain of all kinds, but none so bad as this. He felt unconsciousness creeping into his peripheral vision, but it could come not soon enough. His whole body shook with tremors and his limbs jerked crazily. He felt words, pleas, leaving his mouth without his permission, but couldn't bring himself to care. He just wanted it to end. He just needed it to end. 

Loki withdrew the scepter and all went black, leaving Tony at the mercy of his nightmares once again. 

 

 


	7. Damn That Fucking God Of Fucking Mischief

When Tony awoke, he was unable to register anything but the throbbing pain in his head. Deja vu, he supposed. 

He went to shield his eyes from the piercing lights when his arm was tugged back. Blinking the annoying eye crusties from his eyes, he turned to look at his right hand. It was bound in a metal shackle with a short chain that connected to the shackle on his other hand. They were like handcuffs, he thought, just way heavier and pinchy-er. Painful as the restraints were, his knees hurt way more. He was kneeling on a stone floor similar to that in his cell, just cleaner and blood-stained. 

The blood, he figured, came as a result of the throbbing gash atop his head, in way too close proximity to the one he already had. If Loki was going to continue to knock him out with his scepter, he would soon run out of available undamaged surface on his head. As if this wasn't annoying enough, his arms ached with the fatigue of being held behind his back and his knees were probably heavily bruised. Evidently, he had been in this position for a while. With a grunt, Tony tugged at the shackles binding him. Without his armor, though, his attempts to break free were futile.

He didn't like not having his suit nearby; It made him feel vulnerable and exposed. He had often wondered why he had been chosen for the Avengers initiative. He was nothing without his suit, his layer of protection. With a typical surge of self-loathing, he realized that this solidified his fears. Loki had taken him with ease. Steve would have put up a fight. Natasha would have given the bastard a run for his money. Bruce would have knocked the pompous douchebag all the way back to Asgard. And Clint would have...

_Clint._

Where was Clint? Tony felt panic rise like bile in his throat. What had Loki done to Barton? Tony bared his teeth in anger. Clint was one of the good guys. Tony, well, he wasn't a  _bad_ guy, so to say, but he definitely had questionable motives sometimes. Clint didn't deserve this. Did Tony? The inventor felt his mind unravel as the self-loathing surged, as the insecurities tackled him, as images of dead bodies and gore flashed through his mind. He had killed in anger, in vengeance. Clint had killed under orders. He had been brainwashed and manipulated and extorted and it was  _fucking happening again._ Tony's breath quickened and his vision became blurred with tears. He deserved this. He was awful, he was nothing.

Images crossed his mind like fleeting stills on an old movie. Howard was yelling at him, telling him that he was a useless son and a detriment to the family. The water of the trough in Afghanistan was hurting his eyes. Obidiah was taking the arc reactor from his chest. Dozens of people died as he was too slow to reach the Chitauri that descended upon them. 

"You're nothing!" Screamed the voices inside his head. They sounded like his father when he was drunk. They sounded like Pepper when she cried. They sounded like the reporters and the journalists that called him an arrogant terrorist. They sounded like the other Avengers. They sounded like him.

 

"Just kill me!" Tony yelled to no one in particular. "Please!" 

"The Tesseract is a cruel mistress, isn't she, Stark?" Came a silky voice behind Tony. The inventor jumped a little at Loki's sudden appearance, but even the greatest of shocks could not overcome the shroud of bitterness that threatened to suffocate him. 

"Do you still not understand?" Loki purred, coming around to face his pet. 

"Kill me, sir," begged Tony. "Just do it."

"These thoughts are not your own, Stark," Loki chuckled, gripping his pet's hair lightly. "Well, not entirely, anyway." He chuckled again. 

"What the fuck are you talking abo-" Tony began to say. These words were halted, however, by the tip of Loki's scepter being touched to his reactor. As quickly as they had come, the thoughts of self-loathing and anger and hopelessness left him. He was just Tony: nothing more, nothing less.

"What the hell was that?" he gasped. 

"That," Loki said. "Was a test."

Fearing the retribution of speaking out, Tony swallowed his scathing insult, his biting anger. "A test of what?" He asked, fighting to keep his voice steady and calm.

"Your mind," explained the God of Mischief. "The Tesseract can recognize the anger to which you are most prone to feeling, the dark thoughts that occupy the furthest corners of your broken little head. It seeks out and capitalizes on your worst thoughts and memories."

Tony didn't know what to say. He was so shaken, so lost. He understood that Loki was saying that those thoughts were not his own, but he knew that to be false. He knew that everything he had imagined, all that he had seen, was true. He knew that the voices in his head belonged to actual people that hated him. He knew that he deserved to be hated. 

"So determined to bottle it all up, Stark?" Loki murmured, running a hand through his pet's hair almost affectionately. "To remain the stoically cocky 'Iron Man'? To put up this front of impenetrability, of immortality? I know who you are, Anthony Stark. Like the little Hawk, I know that, beyond that unshakable exterior, you are so very broken. So very lost."

"You're wrong," Tony said feebly. Even as he said the words, he knew that they were not true. He knew that the God of Lies would see right through him. And he did. 

"Am I?" Loki purred, slowly beginning to walk in circles around his pet like a lion would a wounded gazelle. "I know that you crave attention, be it from the media or your precious Avengers. Your late father made you feel insignificant and unloved, and in that mindset you have remained. You think that you yourself have little value so you surround yourself with extravagant, lavish, superficial things to distract yourself from what you feel inside."

"You refuse to see therapists even now because you are afraid to show weakness. You scoff at people that label you as an arrogant, apathetic villain and pretend that you are not bothered by it, but you are. You wan-you need- to be liked, to be loved. You need to be controlled because you are too destructive to be left alone. Even when in the bedroom, you like to be dominated and controlled because your mind goes blank. You think of absolutely nothing, and because that is so rare, you crave it. You crave subjugation."

"So, pet," Loki finished. "Look me in the eye and tell me I am wrong. Tell me, like you have told every other analyst, that I am so far from the truth that it is humorous. Tell me that you do not find security in knowing that I understand you, the inner workings of your mind. Tell me that the thought of being dominated does not arouse you. Look me in the eye, and tell me any of these things, and I will send you to be imprisoned with your fellow Avengers."

Tony dared to look into Loki's eyes. There, amidst the vividly green irises, he found a number of things. He saw arrogance and self-assurance. He saw expectancy. He saw truth. He saw wisdom and knowledge. Those eyes pierced into his heart more painfully than any knife or scepter could. Those eyes didn't see what everyone else saw. They didn't see Tony Stark, the genius billionaire playboy philanthropist. He saw Tony Stark, the broken ball of alcoholism, self-loathing, and submission. He saw him.

And in that moment, Tony found himself unable to lie. He could not tell Loki that he was wrong, because he was right. He was more right than any Avenger would be, than any psychologist or psychiatrist. Tony didn't know how or why, but in that moment, his curiosity outweighed his fear.

"I can't," Tony whispered, dropping his gaze from Loki's. "Sir."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this chapter, you might be saying to yourself "where the hell is she going with this?" Well, me too. I kind of just sat down and wrote this one out without planning, so expect it to be subject to change. 
> 
> also, comments are nice.


	8. You Are Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In an attempt to escape the family festivities of Thanksgiving, I come to you with a random filler chapter for now. I'll probably still update on Saturday or Sunday, but I might have to just leave this for the week because school is growing ridiculous.  
> Hope you guys like it!

Loki chuckled darkly. He took a few steps toward his pet, closing the small gap of space between them until he was standing directly above him. Tony shifted back slightly, more than a little intimidated by the sudden advance. This small movement did not go unnoticed by Loki, however, and he smirked arrogantly as he placed a firm hand in his pet's hair. He tugged back on the sensitive strands so Tony's neck was bent at a very uncomfortable angle and he was looking directly at Loki. Tony hissed in pain as the god jerked his head back by his hair, causing little shoots of pain to erupt all over his scalp. 

"So sensitive to pain already, pet?" Loki tutted condescendingly. 

"Yeah, you'd figure that a guy like me would have some kind of tolerance by now," Tony bit back sarcastically. 

"Fear not, pet," Loki purred, still tugging on Tony's hair. "By the time I am done with you, pain and pleasure will be indistinguishable. They will be so intertwined that you cannot tell one from the other."

That was out of left field. Surely Loki didn't mean what Tony thought he did? Sure, he had deduced something about him having a desire to be dominated in the bedroom, but was he gonna...?

"You are thinking too much," Loki said coldly, pulling on his pet's hair. "Stop."

"Maybe if you were a bit more captivating,  _King Loki,"_ Tony snarled. "I wouldn't lose track of my thoughts."

"You want captivating, pet?" Loki growled, pulling hard on Tony's hair to the point where he was holding back tears. "I will entertain you."

With a snap of his fingers, Loki summoned a trough of water just behind him. With another snap, Tony's shackles had been changed to rough rope, much like the kind he had been bound with in Afghanistan. With a jolt of fear, Tony realized what was about to happen. 

"No," he gasped. "No, please."

"You wanted captivating, pet," Loki said. "Surely mercy is much too  _boring_ for you." With that, the god grabbed Tony by the back of his neck and started dragging him towards the water. 

"No, Loki!" Tony screamed. "Please! Please! Oh God, please don't do this."

"A King will not be defied without seeing retribution."

Tony barely had a second to gather his breath before Loki forced his head under the water. His eyes were met by the cold sting of the murky water. He thrashed and wriggled, but could not break free from Loki's unrelenting grip on his neck. Soon, his lungs began to burn and ache. Tony's attempts at struggling slowed as he quickly approached the horizon of blissful unconsciousness. It couldn't come fast enough, though, because his lungs were on fire and his head was bursting with all the pressure and he was only aware of the water that was up his nose and in his eyes and he just wanted to not fucking feel anything anymore and oh my god these were going to be his last moments and everything was going black and

Loki pulled him back up. Tony fell back on his bound hands, coughing and spluttering and absolutely dying. He sucked in air like it was booze. His vision was blurry and his head was going to explode but he was alive. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to be. 

When Loki began dragging him toward the trough again, Tony's struggle was a bit weaker. He knew it was inevitable, so he sucked in all the air he could and braced himself for the cold water. It never came, though. Tony opened his tightly clenched eyes to see that he was floating centimeters above the surface. 

"Captivated enough, Stark?" Came Loki's arrogant voice. 

"Yes," Tony spluttered. "Yes, yes, yessir."

"I don't think that 'sir' is a worthy title for a king, do you?" Loki mockingly asked. "I think I deserve something more regal, more dignified."

"What do you want from me?" Tony gasped, his eyes only focused on the reflection he saw in the water. "I'll call you anything, dude. Get me away from this fucking trough and you can pick any name in the universe."

Loki snickered malevolently. "My Lord? My King?"

"Anything!"

"Or perhaps... Master?"

Tony paused for a second to swallow. He had limits, he had lines. 'My Lord" and "My King" were fine, they were detached and didn't pertain to him. They were impersonal. 'Master', though. That meant that Loki owned him as a person, and not just as a king, but as a... a master. Every master has their servant, their slave. Tony wasn't that.

Was he?

Apparently he hesitated too long, because he was given no warning before Loki shoved his head back under the water. He fought hard against the bonds that restrained him, against the hand that held him, but to no avail. He was so fucked. Just as the awful black stuff starting creeping into his periphery, Loki tugged him back out. 

"Apologize to your Master, Stark," Loki demanded. "And maybe I will forgive your insolence."

Tony coughed out at least 45 gallons of water before he was even ready to open his eyes. Once he did though, Loki started towards him again. Tony shook his head vigorously. "No, please, not again," he pleaded, his gut turning with the humiliating of practically begging. "I am sorry, Master. I'm sorry."

That made him feel dirty, that word. It made him feel low and disgusting and dirty, like he wasn't even a person. It made him feel debased and weak. It burned like poison in his mouth as it bled out of his reluctant lips. 

"I'm afraid that that alone will not suffice to placate me, Stark," Loki said. "You need to be taught respect and deference, but even before that you must learn humility. You shall return to your cell, to Barton, and I will let you back out when I deem you worthy of the privilege. Am I understood?"

"Yes," Tony coughed. "Yes, M-master."

Loki tapped his scepter on the ground twice and instantly two Chitauri soldiers materialized through the door. They grabbed Tony none too gently by his bound arms. Loki gave him a satisfied smirk as he was dragged out of the room and back into the corridor. Tony shuffled alongside his guards as they hauled him down to his cell. Once there, they opened the door with a key and shoved him inside, where he fell onto the stone floor with a loud smack. His hands still bound behind his back, he was unable to break his fall. He escaped serious injury, though, by using his momentum to roll over his shoulder and into the back wall before his head could make contact with the unforgiving stone. 

Barton was still asleep, his snores the only thing breaking the deafening silence of the cell. Tony sighed as he failed to wriggle out of the tightly bound rope. What had he been thinking? Why couldn't he have just lied to Loki, said that his deductions were wrong? Then he'd be with his friends, his teammates, and not locked in this fucking game of his. 

 _You would abandon Barton?_ A voice in his head said. _Leave him here to fight Loki off on his own? You fucking selfish coward._ Tony sighed and leaned his head against the wall, wincing as one of his bruises was aggravated. Maybe he really deserved to be here, he thought miserably. Longing for the Avengers, for Pepper, for even JARVIS, Tony closed his eyes and waited for sleep to claim him, to take away the tendrils of pain wound all around his body. He leaned his head on Barton's shoulder to get more comfortable and smiled when the man immediately released some sort of tension. Tony figured that Clint was a guy that slept all fetal-like, tense and on edge. He was glad that he was able to provide that comfort for Barton, even if that meant his own imprisonment. Who was he to lie to the God of Lies and somehow convince him that he was not right? To leave his teammate, his friend, to bear the weight of the world by himself? Tony Stark was a lot of things, but he wasn't disloyal. Not when so many people had abandoned him in his life. 

With a resigned sigh, Tony closed his eyes again as he rest his head on Barton's shoulder. They weren't much, the two of them, but they were enough. Well, for now, anyway.

Tony was sure that Loki was going to mess that up, too, in time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment.


	9. Sacrifices

Tony wriggled in his sleep as he felt someone move him slightly out of position. He opened bleary eyes to see Clint kneeling beside him, working on the knots that bound the rope around his hands. His throat too dry to conjure up words, he simply nodded in appreciation and let Clint get him out of his bonds. When the rope was undone and his arms were free, they exploded in little sparks of pain. Previously, they had been numb, but now they felt like little knives were stabbing into each and every nerve with a vengeance. He groaned in pain as Clint stuffed the rope into his back pocket.

"You okay, Stark?" Clint asked.

"Fucking grand," Tony replied through gritted teeth. He curled himself into the corner of the wall and tucked his lifeless arms around himself. His throat was dry, his nose was runny, his arms were hurting, his head was pounding, and he was fucking cold. So, yeah, he was just grand, thanks for asking. 

Clint drew the blanket out from underneath him and wrapped it around his friend's shoulders. Tony grunted in acknowledgement as the sniper cloaked him in meager warmth. Something that felt suspiciously like guilt sprouted in Tony's stomach and he shrugged off half of the blanket, nodding at Clint. Hawkeye smiled softly as he tucked up next to Tony and sheathed himself in the threadbare blanket. 

"You want to talk about it?" Clint ventured. He figured it would be Banner's first step, and he was always the most therapist-y of the Avengers, so it would probably help. Right?

"The torture, you mean? Not particularly." 

Clint sighed and moved on to step 2 in the methodical Banner method. "Any physical wounds that you need me to check?"

"Yeah, actually." Clint perked up. "I've been having some heartburn lately. Do you think you could take a look at my chest and see what might be causing the problem?" Tony asked facetiously. 

Clint narrowed his eyes in slight frustration. "Guess not, then."

"And even if I was wounded, what would you be able to do, Barton? Kiss the boo-boo and make it go away?" Tony said bitterly. 

"Just trying to help, Stark," Clint replied. 

"How noble of you," Tony muttered. He didn't know why he was so angry with Clint. The guy was trying to help, for Christ's sake! _Well, fuck him,_ Tony thought.  _Fuck him for being so damn selfless and kind and fucking concerned about me. No one needs to be concerned about me._  

Their cell door opened with a bang and the two Avengers instinctively tensed at the sound. A Chitauri soldier entered the room bearing a tray. It said nothing as it slid the tray on the floor toward the pair. It left just as quickly as it had appeared, closing the door with another resounding bang. Clint was the first to dart forward and inspect the tray. He observed the contents and looked up at Tony. 

"A bowl of something I assume is food and a bottle of water," he reported. Tony raised a single eyebrow in question. This was Loki's doing, surely. Why torture Tony and then the next day give him food and water? He didn't trust it. 

"It's probably laced with something," Tony said apathetically. That didn't really stop him from wanting to gulp down the entire bottle of water. Drugged or not, it would soothe his achingly dry throat. The food wouldn't hurt, either. Something-anything- in his stomach would sate him for the next several days. But what if it was laced? There was no toilet in the cell, or none that he could see. He seriously did not want to have to deal with his bodily excretions in the cell he slept in. 

"Do you want to risk that?" Clint asked, examining the food. He brought the bowl up to his nose and sniffed, his sniper's senses heightening instinctively. "The food seems alright to me. The water, I can't be sure about."

"I can do without the food for another couple days at most, but I need water. Like, now."

"Let me test it first and wait a couple hours before you have any, then," Clint offered. Tony felt his anger surge again. Why-how- was Clint so ready to sacrifice his own well-being to ensure Tony's? Why did he have to be so fucking selfless and make Tony feel like an asshole for not even considering that? Tony Stark had always known himself to be a selfish person, he had been told countless times by reporters and friends alike. He just didn't realize just how bad that was. He was an awful person, and here Clint was, ready to risk drinking drugged water just so Tony would know not to. 

"How about we both do the Katniss thing and refuse to eat or drink any of it?" Tony replied. 

"And risk making Loki angrier? I'd rather have the drugged food."

"So you have some of the food and I'll have some of the water, and we'll see what happens in a few hours."

Clint sighed. "Sure." He tossed Tony the bottle before picking up the bowl. He and Tony exchanged grimaces before they downed their prospective poisons. 

**...**

They waited with bated breath for hours, their silence tense and their fear mounting, before it started. It began suddenly and continued without mercy. First, Clint keeled over and began coughing up blood. Then, just as Tony was rushing to his aid, the latter began to scream as his stomach gave an almighty twist. Blood dribbled from Tony's mouth as he yelled in pain. Clint's knuckles were white as he groaned through the agonizing turning of his stomach. The two of them were too distracted to even hear the opening of the door. 

Loki strutted into the cell, looking smug and confident, as always. Tony could barely glare at him before his stomach gave another lurch and he spat out a glob of dark red blood. The cell was filled with the sounds of coughing and screaming and Loki smirked in satisfaction. Using his magic, he forced Tony and Clint back against the wall where they struggled in futility against the invisible bonds that kept them against the wall. Their pain was ever increasing and still they screamed, but they were unable to move. 

From within his pocket Loki pulled out a small vial. It was filled with a clear liquid. 

"An antidote," Loki explained, getting right to the point. "To soothe your ailments." The pair could not respond through the bouts of coughing and sobbing. The pain was far greater than any they had ever experienced. It felt as though their innards were being stretched and boiled and liquefied all at once. It was a terrible agony through which they suffered, with Tony screaming intermittently and Clint trying and failing to withhold sobs. 

"I regret to inform you that there is but one," the God of Mischief explained. "When taken, the antidote will rid you of all pain. If not, these symptoms will persist for the next 24 hours."

"Clint," Tony croaked, his eyes watering. "Take it."

"No," Barton groaned. "You take it." 

"Do be quick about it, children," Loki drawled. "I would hate to have to make the decision myself."

"Take the fucking antidote, Barton!" Tony just barely managed to choke out before another bout of coughing began. He was sick of being the selfish one. He could take another day of this, if need be. He was sure he could. 

"No! You-" Barton coughed. "You take it. I'll be fine!"

"I see that you are incapable of overcoming this truly heartwarming altruism," Loki intervened. "So I will decide."

He surveyed Tony and Clint both, a mad glint in his eye. A part of Tony really wanted that antidote, but the other part knew that he couldn't keep accepting Clint's charity. He needed to contribute, he needed to do something to help. 

"Or," said the God of Mischief. Tony and Clint perked up uneasily. "Let's, as you humans say, 'make this interesting', shall we? I would not want one pet to suffer while the other does not. I am a fair master, so I will be fair. Whoever takes the antidote must come with me for the next 24 hours, hmm? Are you still ready to offer the antidote to the other?"

"Tony," gasped Barton. "I'll take it. You-you don't know what he's going to do to you."

"Neither do you," Tony coughed. 

Clint's eyes darkened. "Yeah, I do."

"Don't go spoiling it, Little Hawk," Loki threatened. "Although, I would love to have you back where you belong." Clint began shaking, and Tony was sure that it wasn't because of the poison. 

"Clint, please," Tony offered. "Let me go. You've probably had to do this enough. I can handle it."

"I'm sorry, Tony," Clint sobbed. 

"There's no need," Tony coughed. He nodded at Loki, who released them both from their magical bonds. Clint was left writhing on the floor as Loki gripped Tony by the shirt and dragged him up. He uncorked the vial and gave the inventor no warning before he downed the liquid into his mouth. Tony swallowed and immediately his pain was relieved. He wasn't sure if he felt pity or jealousy as he looked down to Clint, whose eyes were screwed shut with pain. 

"Come along, Pet," Loki ordered. "On your knees."

The coldness of the water and the burning of his lungs still fresh in his mind, Tony dropped willingly to his knees. "Yes, Master." When Loki smirked and turned around, Tony crawled after him. He shot a look back at Clint, who mouthed the words  _I'm sorry_ again. For what, Tony did not know, but it surely didn't help the fear that was filling him to the brim. He suppressed a shiver and swallowed his pride as Loki closed the cell door and led him down the hallway like the pet he was. 


	10. Of Pride and Agony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for this chapter: kind of almost dub-con
> 
> But also smut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smut smut smut smut smut smut

Tony's heart thrummed with trepidation as Loki led him down the cavernous hallway. The blinding white walls were drowning him, suffocating him until he could not breathe. Tony gritted his teeth through his panic and forced himself to hold on to his last wisp of calmness. His body was trembling, actually shaking in fear, but he forced himself to swallow the anxiety because he sure as hell didn't want Loki to turn around and find him shaking like a frightened child. Well, he didn't want Loki to turn around at all, really, but..

That thought was cut short abruptly as Tony almost banged into Loki's legs. He regained his focus just before walking-crawling- into the god, as Loki had stopped in the middle of the hallway. He withdrew a set of brass keys from his weird leather armor pocket thing and unlocked the door to a room that Tony did not recognize. Now that he thought about it, actually, he didn't recognize any of the hallway. He cursed himself for letting himself get distracted. Now he had no way of knowing how to get back to the cell. This might have been his one and only opportunity for escape, and he fucked it up. 

 _Really?_ Said the snide voice in Tony's head. _You would escape from this place and leave Clint all alone? You would somehow outsmart the God of Lies and manage to slip out of a heavily guarded facility, leaving Barton behind to shoulder all of this on his own? You selfish, inconsiderate, self-serving motherfu-_

"You know, Stark," Loki said, strutting into the room. Tony followed obediently, mindlessly. "I wish I could have met your father. He seems to have instilled in you a beautiful amount of self-loathing. It's admirable, the way that he broke you. Do you miss your dear daddy, Anthony?" Loki closed the door behind them and turned on the light. It was similar to the one Tony had woken up in two days ago: stark white walls, no furniture, high ceiling. 

"Don't you fucking talk about my father," Tony growled, daring to lift his head from its previous hanging position. His eyes met Loki's defiantly, the brown irises flaring with pain and anger, and the green ones twinkling with satisfaction and smugness. 

"What was that, Pet?" Loki's voice dropped dangerously. He still wore that smirk on his face, but his eyes had lost their smile. It was unsettling to see his face looking so disdainful but his eyes so empty. 

Tony backtracked for a second. He didn't trust that tone in Loki's voice, and he certainly didn't trust himself to not say something stupid. His anger flared like a stoked fire in his belly, but his brain was screaming at him to attempt some sort of self-preservation and drop his head and voice in reverence, just as Loki wanted. Maybe then he would escape pain. 

"I said, don't fucking talk about my father," he snapped. Fuck. There went the whole "self-preservation" thing. As big and formidable as his brain was, it couldn't surmount his pride. 

"You have learned time and again the consequences of disrespecting your King," Loki drawled, stalking toward Tony with a single eyebrow quirked. "And still you choose to indulge your pride rather than your safety. How transparent you are, Anthony. How obvious are the tendencies of your human nature."

"And you really think you're one to be lecturing  _me_ on daddy issues, Bambi?"

"You are overstepping your already slimming bounds, Stark," Loki threatened, his voice getting darker and deeper. 

Tony was struck by an arbitrary thought of courage, so he held tight to it before it could escape him. He was sure to be broken in the days, the weeks to come, but now he was intact and now he was whole, so he was going to take proper advantage of that.

"But that's why you chose me, isn't it?" Tony dared, still staring Loki down (or up, rather, because he was still on his hands and knees). "Clint and I, we have more than a few things in common. You have a type, Reindeer Games, and it's becoming a bit more obvious. You chose Clint, initially, because he was there and you were desperate for soldiers. But then you saw a fire in him, you saw a rebellion, and you tried to break it.

"But you couldn't. I'm sure that, even when he was all hopped up on your Tesseract juice, he defied you. And you had never had that before. So you tried again and again to break him, but you never could. Because Clint is stronger than all of us, and you wanted a challenge, you took him again that day you won New York. 

"As for me, you could have picked any one else. You could have taken all of us, if you wanted. You could have just taken Clint. But you chose me. You _chose_ me. You knew that Banner, as a mortal, would never have the balls to defy you. You knew that Cap would give in to save everyone else. You knew that Natasha would never budge at all, so where was the fun in that? _  
_

"You chose me and Clint _because_ we challenge you. You can say all this shit and give me all these threats, but you know that I'm still going to fight you at every step. Maybe, probably, one day you will break me. You know already that I am submissive by nature, but not entirely. You wanted, you craved that wriggle room. You chose me and Clint so you'd have that extra bit of power every time you broke us down.

"How's that for transparency, Reindeer Games?" Tony finished. His cheeks were flushed and his breath was bated in anticipation, but still Loki did nothing. Tony expected to be cut off before he even got into that whole spiel. He expected to be thrown out a window or forced down a water trough. But Loki was doing nothing, and that scared him even more. 

"Come over here, Stark," Loki said coldly. 

"No."

"Come over here, Stark." Loki's voice dropped yet another octave, sending shivers down Tony's spine. The latter figured that he had done enough to piss the god off today, so he complied and began slowly crawling toward him. As he approached, Loki snapped his fingers and conjured a chair out of nowhere. Well, it was more of a throne. It was lavishly decorated with gold trimmings and green velvet. Tony's mind simmered in confusion as Loki sat down on the throne, looking as regal as ever. When Tony reached him, Loki swooped down in one fluid movement and tugged Tony across his lap so his hands and feet were just shy of touching the floor.

"What the hell?" Tony squirmed and tried to get out of Loki's grip, but to no avail. 

"You disrespected me, spoke out of turn, did not refer to me as 'Master", and used profanity in my presence. I am going to spank you like the child you are."

"Like hell you are," Tony gasped, still trying in futility to break free of the god's grasp. 

"I will give you 50 slaps to begin with, and should you continue to struggle, I will add more. Am I understood?" Tony didn't answer. Loki pulled his torn and tattered jeans down to his knees, along with his black boxer briefs. Tony gasped as his bare flesh was met with the unrelenting sting of Loki's hand.

"Am I understood, Stark?"

"Yes, Master," Tony replied, his voice shaking. With just a single hit, his bottom was stinging and tears were welling in his eyes. 

"I want you to count aloud for me. If you lose count, we will start over."

"Y-yes, Master."

Loki slapped his bottom hard, the sound of flesh on flesh reverberating in the room. Tony swallowed a gasp and said "One." Loki hit him again on the exact same spot, and again Tony counted. For the next 5 hits, Loki matched his palm up with the marks already marring his pet's white skin. Tony bit down on his lower lip, drawing blood, but still counted "Eight."

When they reached 15, the pain stopped being so... _painful._  It was like the harsh sting of his buttocks were melting down into pure sensation, neither pain nor pleasure. It was stimulating and weirdly erotic, and Tony felt his cock hardening against Loki's leg. If he wasn't so immersed in the sensation, he might have been embarrassed.

But he wasn't. 

By the time they reached 35, the pain had morphed into a weird mix between agony and sweet pleasure. With every slap, Tony felt his hips jerk back to meet Loki's hand. His ass was on fire and that pain was fueling his achingly hard cock. He felt that the god was also becoming aroused, be it because of Tony's willingness or his own sadism. 

By the time they reached 45, Tony had forgotten what he was being punished for. Tears stung his eyes and his ass was ablaze with the passionate fire of a thousand fucking suns, but God help him it was  _exquisite_. His cock was painfully hard, and every count came out as a breathy moan rather than a number. Tony felt Loki's rock-hard cock beneath him, grounding him. When they reached 50, he was both grateful and aching for more. Loki carefully set his pet down on the tiled floor, where Tony willingly fell to his knees. He didn't know what was happening, or why he was so compliant all of a sudden, but he was aching for any kind of stimulation. 

"Do you like that, Pet?" Loki asked, towering before the kneeling Tony. He surveyed his pet: the flushed cheeks, the dilated pupils, and the fully erect cock all screamed masochistic pleasure. Tony's pants were still around his knees, but the engineer seemed to have not noticed. He was kneeling before Loki, before his Master, fully erect and willing, and arousal was swirling in Loki's belly at the sight. 

"Yes, Master," Tony gasped, reaching a hand down to bring himself release. 

"No," Loki commanded harshly. At his delight, Tony retracted his hand almost immediately, looking up at him with big brown puppy dog eyes. "You may not touch yourself until I permit it." Tony nodded both eagerly and ruefully. Loki, rather than disappear his clothes with magic, chose the agonizingly slow process of removing the layers of leather and metal from his crotch. He would not reveal his fully naked form until his pet knew how to worship it properly. 

He unfastened buttons, clasps, and ties with deliberate patience. He watched as Tony licked his lips eagerly, his eyes trained solely on Loki's deft hands. He wanted so badly to touch himself,  but he knew that if he did, Loki wouldn't let him come at all. Obedience was his best bet at getting his release. And also, following Loki's orders stirred that pooling arousal in the pit of his stomach. 

When Loki had finally unsheathed his throbbing cock from its many cages of clothing, he watched as Tony's eyes widened at both the girth and length of his penis. 

"Come here, Pet," Loki commanded softly. "If you do a good job of sucking, perhaps I will reward you."

"Yes, Master."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> like, cliffhanger but not really because we all know what's going down in the next chapter   
> (or rather, who's going down (on whom))  
> ha ha  
> blowjob jokes


	11. Of Blowjobs and Utter Desperation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, guys! But I did try to make this chapter a bit longer than usual. hope you like it!

Tony stared in awe at Loki's cock. Tony Stark was one such man that was known for his sexual promiscuity, but even with all that he had seen in his day, Loki's magnificent endowment was the greatest he had ever seen. It was so big, and even as Tony crawled forward to get a taste, all he could think of was the pleasure that cock could bestow upon him and his willing little ass. Whenever he had been with a man he had been a bottom, so it was no question that he would be on the receiving end of this little arrangement. Rather than discourage him, the imposing length and girth of Loki's cock only encouraged the arrogance in Tony, the certainty that he could tackle any and all challenges. 

Loki growled with impatience when Tony's tongue darted out and barely lapped at the head, the tip of the man's muscle just barely teasing at the slit of Loki's cock. Tony grinned slightly as he wrapped his lips around the head, swirling his devilish tongue in intoxicating movements that made Loki gasp. Tony, encouraged by the god's reaction, eased himself down the length. His tongue traced the underside of Loki's cock, providing both too much and not enough friction for the impatient god. Tony dared to look up and shot Loki a look that screamed self-satisfaction and arrogance. Pleased as he was with his pet's teasing, Loki couldn't have his head swell too large, so he gripped Tony by the hair and forced him down his entire length, groaning as he felt himself slam into the back of the man's throat.

Tony gasped and choked, his eyes watering. Loki smirked as he gave another tug of his pet's hair and saw his cock harden even more. His pet liked hair pulling, then. That piece of information was filed away for later. Tony could barely gulp down enough air between bobs to stay conscious. It probably wasn't that serious an air deprivation problem, really, but in his mind he was dying. Cause of death: the God of Mischief's dick. Bet that would go over well with the tabloids. 

Tony winced as Loki pulled his hair tighter still, and as the god starting moving his hips and thrusting into his pet's mouth. Tony recoiled at the aggressive face-fucking, but at the same time he craved it. For as much attention he was giving to his master's cock, his own was still throbbing painfully and aching for release. Speaking of release...

Loki grunted as he came fast and hard into his pet's mouth, groaning in satisfaction as Tony hastened to swallow every drop. As he pulled out of his pet's mouth, he was sure to smear a bit of his remaining come over his lips, ensuring that Tony remembered his place and his function as Loki's little cockslut. The inventor whined slightly and shifted just the tiniest bit to alert his master to the growing and throbbing issue between his legs. 

"Do you want your reward, Pet?" Loki purred, tucking himself back into his many leathers. 

"Yes, Master," Tony gasped, firmly holding his hands behind his back to resist the temptation of palming his erection. 

"What's the magic word, Pet?"

"Please, Master. Please." Tony was practically crying out with need. Loki smirked as he sat back down in his throne. He gestured for Tony to come to him and received an unexpected but nevertheless promising gift when Tony opted to crawl rather than stand up and walk. Loki grinned mischievously as he tugged his pet up and onto his lap. Tony huffed with surprise as Loki secured him on his lap, wrapping one arm around his neck and another around his cock. 

Rather than being scared as Loki wrapped his muscular forearm around his neck, Tony was turned on. Loki squeezed ever so lightly as he began to pump agonizingly slowly, his hand stimulating his pet but not doing nearly enough. Tony tried to buck his hips up into Loki's hand, but his master gave a squeeze of his neck in warning. Gradually, as the pumping became faster and the squeezing became harder, Tony was assaulted by stimulation. His air cut off just enough for him to ache for it, but not enough for it to hurt. His rock-hard cock was begging him for release, but Loki had not yet said that he was allowed to come, so he didn't dare risk it. He bit down on his lower lip to try to stave off his always-impending orgasm, but just stimulated himself further. 

"I could leave you like this," Loki threatened, whispering as he licked at the shell of his per's ear. "I could tie you up and leave you here, panting and wanting, until I returned. Then I would fuck your tight little hole until you were nothing more than a puddle of need and want."

Normally, dirty talk did very little to encourage Tony Stark, but he'd be damned if he said that that wasn't the hottest fucking thing he'd ever heard. "Please, oh god please, Master. Please let me come," he groaned. 

"Only because you've been such a good boy," Loki purred. He bit down on Tony's shoulder-hard- and grinned as his pet gasped in both pain and pleasure. "Come for me, Pet."

That was all Tony needed to open the gates and let it all come flooding out. Loki continued to pump him through his orgasm, gripping him tightly as white-hot euphoric bliss spread throughout his whole body. As Tony came off his high, Loki lowered him back to his knees but he remained in the throne. 

Loki withdrew a green hankerchief from his pocket and, with a snap of his magical fingers, made it damp. He tossed it at Tony, who caught it with numb hands. Understanding the purpose, Tony wiped off the come that coated his stomach and chest, and that which had gathered around his mouth. It was sinful, really, the way that having to clean himself of Loki's dried come turned him on. If he had the stamina, he probably could have gotten half hard on that alone. 

"You're much darker than you reveal yourself to be outwardly, Stark," Loki purred, appraising his pet with a sinful gleam in his eye. 

"Vanilla gets boring after awhile, I suppose," Tony replied. "Master-" he added. They then entered a silence that was unbearably awkward and tense for Tony but evidently contemplative for Loki. The latter seemed so deeply invested in his thoughts that the former didn't dare break the silence. Now that Tony wasn't preoccupied with his aching need for orgasm, he was at a lack of things to say. And that didn't often happen to him. 

"When I offered you and Barton the antidote, you adamantly refused to take it," Loki began. "And when you saw that he was troubled by the prospect of having to endure 24 private hours with me, you shouldered the burden yourself. Why?"

"Because that's what you're supposed to do, Master," Tony replied, daring to lift his head and stare at Loki curiously. "Because I knew that I was better equipped to handle this and that he is better equipped to deal with the poison."

"And why is that? Why was he better suited to ride out the effects of the poison, rather than you?"

"Because, I dunno. He just is, I guess."

"I did not ask for a maybe, Pet. I asked for an answer."

Tony sighed. "Because we knew that my getting sick and having to cough up blood would be more of a risk than him doing it."

"Because of the device in your chest." It sounded, to Tony's ears, like a question, but he was sure it wasn't. 

"Yes, Master." 

"I was told that the story of that device had a long, convoluted history. Tell me."

"Why? Master."

"Because I'm interested and we have approximately 23 more hours before I have you returned to your cell."

Tony sighed again and shifted off his knees to make himself more comfortable. He pulled up his pants, which he realized he had forgotten to do in his post-orgasm haze, and sat on his butt and crossed his legs. Loki raised an eyebrow at his pet's daring but said nothing to protest the small act of defiance. Tony then launched into the story without preface, wanting to get through the horrific flashbacks without much trouble. It took him no more than 10 minutes to retell the story of that Hell, but to him it seemed like a lifetime. 

When he finished his story, Loki said nothing. He only nodded and sank back into deep thought. It was weird. Tony didn't feel threatened by Loki's brooding silence, but he didn't exactly feel safe, either. Tony rested his head on his hand, stifling a yawn as he waited for something to happen. Once something did happen, though, he found himself sorely missing the stagnation. 

Loki, with a snap of his fingers, summoned a water trough. Tony trembled and looked up at his master with frightened eyes. "Why?" He found himself asking, accusing. 

"Because you're not easily broken, and I'm not easily entertained."

"You sadistic fuck, you're entertained by torture?" Tony exclaimed, standing up and backing as far away as he could from the water trough. 

"No. I'm fascinated by it. More specifically, by yours."

"Why?" Tony wanted to scream, but his throat was constricting and his fear was choking him. 

"Because yours is the most intricate. You think I chose you and Barton because you're rebellious, you're wrong. I chose you because you're the hardest to crack, the hardest to understand. The super soldier, he'd be easy to torture. I'd make him watch the torturing of another, helpless, or even make him do it himself. I would get into the Black Widow's mind, opening every sealed door she has concealed from all you. Banner I could torture physically, if I wanted. But you and Barton, I have seen your minds, and they are the most complex. You are both haunted by your pasts, by your family lives and your depraved childhoods. But you're both also resistant to physical pain and psychological manipulation. So, I'm experimenting." 

"I know that you resent water, that your chest device makes you susceptible to any torture I might enact on your heart and easily controlled, but also that you're a genius who has revolutionized the modern world with his inventions. I know that you're haunted by the ghosts of your late father, that you overcompensate in order to convince yourself that you're worth something. I know that you crave praise and orders, no matter how much you resent your innately submissive nature. I know that your pride is bigger than your reason, and that you will do any and everything to maintain that pride. I know that behind the facade that you sell to the newspapers and magazines of your realm, you really just crave a good dominant. You need someone that can degrade and humiliate you, beat you and hurt you, and at the end of it all, bring you back to life."

"I know that Barton hates to be tied up, that he needs to be able to move in order to function. I know that his conscience often outweighs his logic, and that he would die for a complete stranger if need be. I know that he has done many horrible things in the name of justice, and also under the orders of S.H.I.E.L.D. Things that keep him awake at night, that make his hands shake when he does anything but hold a bow. I know that he chooses to be a sniper, not because he was trained to be one as a child, but because it is the only weapon he can wield that lets him fire from hundreds of yards away so he feels like he is removed from the act, like he is somehow not responsible because he was not near the falling of blood."

"I know already what makes you and Barton function, and now I'm trying to find whatever it is that tears you apart."

"Why do you want to tear us apart?" Tony didn't deny anything that Loki said, because he couldn't. Everything he said was 100% correct. Or, everything about him. The stuff he said about Clint wasn't surprising, but it was still strange to hear. It scared Tony that Loki viewed them as a challenge, a puzzle to solve. Because, once he solved that puzzle, what use would they have? What purpose? They would be expendable, worthless. They'd almost certainly on death row, and that was if they weren't already dead. 

"To see if I can put you back together the right way, or if I can rearrange the broken pieces to form an entirely new image. An image that I design and perfect, to become the idealized Pet and servant."

"You'll never get the fucking chance. Do whatever you want, buddy, because you're not breaking me. No way, no how. I'm in-fucking-destructible."

"The man doth protest too much, methinks," Loki taunted, sauntering over to his cornered pet. "You know that you're already broken, Stark. You have been for a while. Just accept it and let your Master put you back together."

And with that, Loki dragged a kicking and scratching Tony over to the water trough, where he pushed his pet's head underwater and listened to the beautiful sound of muffled screaming. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments as a late-christmas, early-birthday present?


	12. Plot Twist: Torture Isn't Fun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to update, guys! I've edited this chapter time and again and I could never seem to get it right. I'm still not really sure about it, to be honest, but I think I'm gonna keep it as is for now.  
> Beginning of the chapter TW: graphic depictions of torture  
> But, once you get past all the dark angst, you get a bit of fluff at the end.

Tony gasped for air, his lungs aching and burning. Somewhere between the 3rd and 4th dunking Tony had given up. He stopped struggling, he stopped fighting. If he had the strength, he probably would have stopped breathing. But he couldn't. Every second he spent under the water was one where he had to fight off his basic, primal urge to suck in a breath. His lungs filled with fog and his brain started drowning in the sensations of the cold water, the sharp pain of his knees digging into the tiled floor, and the painful tugging of his hair. And then he breathed in just enough for him to start coughing uncontrollably, to start thrashing around like a fish out of water that had just been given 1000 volts. And then Loki would pull him out, keeping his hand twisted in his pet's slightly overgrown hair. He would give Tony a second's reprieve before he forced his head back under, a curious glint in his eye and a small grin forming at the edges of his lips. 

The seventh or eighth time that Tony resurfaced, he could take it no longer. "Please!" he spluttered, his eyes burning and his head ringing. "Please, sir, Master, please!"

"Please what, Pet?" Loki asked as if he didn't fucking know. That same arrogant smirk was turning his lips up infuriatingly. He bent over slightly and reviewed his Pet's soggy hair and heaving chest with eyebrows raised. 

"Please stop," Tony weeped, his own voice sounding distant and hollow. "Please, do anything else. Torture me however else you like. Just not this. Please."

"You mortals are such weak creatures," Loki spat, vanishing the trough with a snap of his fingers. "But, if my Pet begs so prettily for me, who am I to deny him?" He grinned wickedly-maniacally- before conjuring what looked like a surgical table. The cool metal surface was marred only by the thick leather straps that hung ominously from the four corners. With a quick snap of his fingers, Loki had Tony fixed to the table. Tony shook his head slightly in confusion, unable to understand how he had been in one place and then transported to another with just a snap of Loki's fingers. Fucking magic. 

Loki retrieved a small silver dagger from within his sleeve. He brandished the weapon greedily, watching with intent eyes as it glinted beautifully in the unrelenting light of the stunningly white room. It wasn't going to stay white for long....

Without warning, he slashed the dagger diagonally down Tony's stomach, creating a long gash almost an inch deep. Tony bit his tongue to keep his gasp of pain to keep from escaping, but still he failed. Tears welled involuntarily in his eyes as Loki continued his methodical work. The edge of the knife dug into his tender flesh, making Tony cry out in pain. Loki carved intricate patterns into his Pet's skin, pressing deeper here and lighter there, until his masterpiece was completed. Scrawled on Tony's torso in the calligraphy of blood was a single word: PET. Whether it would scar or not didn't even register in Tony's mind. He could only focus on the pooling puddle of scarlet that was growing beneath him, making his vision blur and his head pound. Loki traced his lines with unforgiving, calloused fingers, his fingernails finding each and every gash. The stinging, the ache, and the burning pain was making Tony leak silent tears. His little droplets fell from his eyes and onto his bare chest, where they soon dripped down into his wounds. It burned like a motherfucker but he couldn't stop crying.

"Would you rather I continue being creative, Pet?" Loki asked, wiping the blood smeared on his dagger on Tony's chest. "Or do you want to return to the water trough?"

As bad as this pain was, Tony shook his head furiously. "Not the water trough again. Please." The small sting of his pride, the little part of him that protested the humiliation of being so weak that he begged for mercy before the torture had even begun, was minute in comparison to the bleeding mess that was his abdomen. His pride wouldn't serve as a bandage to cover his gaping wounds, nor his PTSD. 

With another crisp snap, Loki had Tony dangling from the ceiling by his wrists. Metal shackles were closed around his wrists, chafing and cutting into his skin immediately. The chains were long enough that he was not dangling off the ground, but not yet so long that he could avoid standing on his tippy toes. Already his shoulders were protesting the strain of having to keep him upright. 

From behind him came the unmistakable crack of a leather whip. Tony barely had time to register the noise before horrible agony descended upon him. A single lash of that whip held within it the passion of a thousand white-hot suns, the power of a million knives. The tip of the leather was surely coated in acid or some sort of corrosive chemical, because there was no way that this pain was in any way natural. The noise that cracked just before the pain burst was maybe worse. He knew what was coming, he knew it was coming soon, and yet was powerless to stop it. His shoulders ached horribly and his back was ablaze with anguish, but still Tony was grateful that it was this torture that he faced rather than the water. These marks would surely scar, they would hurt for weeks to come, but still they were favorable in comparison to the drowning. He wished he fucking understood why. 

And, just as abruptly as this had all happened, it stopped. The crack of the whip was heard no more. All that could be heard in the stillness of the room was the faint dripping of blood and Tony's ragged breathing. Tony didn't hear Loki snap his fingers, or he thought he didn't, before he fell unceremoniously to the tiled floor. His arms gave away and he fell with a thump to his knees, unable to even register the pain in his rapidly bruising knees. 

"Come here, Pet." Loki's clear voice rang through the hazy veil that shrouded Tony, shattering his frail stability like glass. He turned a heavy head to look at Loki, who was stroking a pretty obvious erection. The directions were clear enough to Tony. He couldn't remember if this had all happened to him as punishment or not, so he thought it best to appease Loki and do whatever he said. So, he crawled forward on a slippery floor and, without a word, took the man's cock into his mouth. Above his line of sight, Loki raised his eyebrows in surprise, but that look of shock was soon replaced with one of pleasure. Tony worked his tongue mindlessly, too tired and in too much pain to implement much technique. When Loki started bucking his hips, Tony just let himself be used. He didn't even recoil as he felt Loki hit the back of his throat. It hurt and he couldn't breathe, but he was above water, so he was okay with whatever was being done to him. When Loki came down his throat without warning, Tony hastened to swallow every drop. And when the last drop of come fell from his lower lip, another drop of blood spilled from his stomach, and Tony fell forward at Loki's feet, finally unconscious. 

_**...** _

When Clint woke up from his poison-induced restless sleep, he was surprised to find that Tony had been thrown into his cell sometime in the night. Or was it day? He couldn't remember. He didn't care. 

Tony's shirt was gone and his pants were stained with what looked like come. Clint gasped audibly when he saw the man's back, which was oozing blood and inflamed and puffy. Clint quickly took the water, which he had de-poisoned using a technique Natasha had taught him, and gently poured it onto a strip of fabric that he tore off his own shirt. He poured the water over the rag and applied it to Tony's back, wincing as the man hissed in his sleep. Maybe he was drugged, then, if he hadn't woken up. Clint did his best to clean the wounds on Tony's back and wrapped it in bandages he made from their blanket- it wasn't doing them much good anyway. Once he turned Tony around, he gasped again when he saw the words scrawled into his abdomen. PET. He ignored the word and treated the wounds as just normal wounds. He cleaned them and dressed them to the best of his ability, but Bruce was always the one that did this sort of stuff. Clint truly had no idea what he was doing. He had dressed wounds in his day, sure, and removed bullets and trackers and usual S.H.I.E.L.D shit like that, but this was different. Tony's wasn't just another expendable civilian life. His was an important life. A life that was entwined with Clint's now. 

Clint was wary of using the water to hydrate himself and Tony, but he figured that it had been hours since he dressed Tony's wounds and he was showing no effects of having been poisoned. So Clint slowly trickled drops of water into Tony's open mouth just to keep him alive. He was fucking terrified. He knew that Tony was breathing because his eyes had been trained on the rise and fall of the man's chest since he had first woken up and noticed him in the cell, but he feared that Stark would never wake up. Even more, he feared that Loki had put Tony to sleep because he was coming for Clint next. 

So Clint sat in fear for several hours, sometimes having to bang his head against the wall a little bit to keep from falling asleep. Falling asleep meant vulnerability, and he couldn't afford to be so weak when Tony was in such bad condition. He occasionally paced the length of their tiny cell, his hands clasped firmly behind his back or across his chest, and his mind somehow too loud and too quiet at the same time. He felt a small jolt of panic whenever Tony stirred in his sleep, which wasn't very often. Every few hours he would re-dress the wounds on Tony's back and stomach, alternating between laying the man across his knee and splaying him over the floor. The used bandages were sodden with blood, but seeing as there was nowhere for Clint to dispose of them, he just tucked them away into the furthest corner of their cell. It was a miserable... day? Clint was unsure of how much time had passed. 

Finally, Tony began to regain some semblance of life. He grumbled in his half-asleep state something about wanting a cheeseburger. Clint chuckled slightly-more out of relief than amusement- before sitting down next to his friend and dragging him to lean against his chest. It was because the fabric of his shirt would irritate the wounds less than the stone walls of the cell. Or at least that's what Clint was trying to convince himself of. It definitely wasn't because he was so relieved that he wanted to hug Tony, and it absolutely wasn't because he was, in spite of himself, craving that human contact. Nope. Not because of any of those things. Because of the wounds. Yep. 

"Water," Tony croaked. His voice was raspy and pained with the whipmarks and deep gashes both. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth and his head was swimming. His only comfort was Clint's reassuring presence behind him, the texture of the man's calloused hands rubbing his arms gently. As Clint reached over to retrieve the requested water, Tony tried to recollect what had happened a few hours ago. Or was it a few days ago? Below the makeshift bandages he could feel that the gashes had not scabbed, but that the blood had congealed slightly. So, like, a day or two had passed. 

Clint handed him the bottle but Tony fumbled with numb and uncoordinated hands, so the archer took the water back and maneuvered Tony around so he was facing him. He tilted the man's chin up gently and tipped the water in small drips down his throat. Tony's eyes closed in appreciation and he managed to swallow the first few drops. He started to cough soon after, though, and the water dripped down his chin. Clint quickly tipped the bottle back, not wanting to waste any of the precious liquid. Tony wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and Clint's eyes dropped to his lips. They were chapped and dry, but they were there. They were just before him and Clint felt so unsure about everything. About Loki, about the other Avengers, about the precariousness of his position between an enslaved life and a free death...

Clint moved forward and hesitated just long enough for Tony to shift back if he wanted to. He didn't. 

**...**

First it was kissing for the sake of kissing. At first, it was just loneliness and uncertainty. But then, after some uncoordinated fumbling and weird eye contact, they fell into a rhythm. Clint reached a hand up to Tony's neck and deepened the kiss, flicking his tongue in just slightly. Their uncertainty and their hesitation turned into a heated passion, a fear that manifested itself in reckless abandon and spontaneity. Damn Loki and what they had done to them, what he was doing to them. Hard as he may try, they would not be broken. 

When they broke away, they opened their eyes. In Clint's stormy gray irises Tony found stability and an escape from his fear. In Tony's chocolate brown pools Clint found security and safety. They provided for each other what they could find nowhere else in this depraved prison: affection, life, and vibrancy. They saw that which Loki sought to steal, giving one another the strength to deny him the opportunity to take their lives and their rebellion. It was confusing, sure, to have just kissed your teammate/prison cell buddy/only emotional support/ bro. But at the same time, it wasn't at all confusing. It was just right. 

Not another word was spoken that night. They, without a word, crawled into their typical corner and assumed a somewhat comfortable position of cuddling. Clint leaned against the wall to save Tony's injuries the agony of the jagged stone. His legs were bent at the knee so Tony fell right into the cavern created by his legs and backed by his chest. Tony's head rested easily on Clint's shoulder and their hands found each other with a natural ease. As Clint felt Tony fall asleep once again, he no longer felt that fear that had followed him the previous days where Tony had been unconscious. He felt safe for the first time since New York. Well, since he was born, really. He felt warmth and comfort even in the dankness of their cell.

When Tony's breathing slowed and his snores grew louder, Clint pressed a small sentimental kiss to his temple before falling into a doze himself.


	13. I Will Have You Broken

Clint shivered in his sleep and reached out mindlessly for Tony's presence and warmth. When his numb hands found nothing but air, Clint awoke in a panic. He searched frantically in the dark cell, his eyes already adjusted to the lack of light. Tony wasn't there. Pure, innate, blind terror gripped Clint by the heart and tugged, drawing every wisp of breath from his lungs and causing a faint sheen of cold sweat to surface on his taut muscles. The cold of the cell was forgotten in the heat of his adrenaline and anger. Why did Loki keep taking Tony? What fucking game was he playing by ignoring Clint and dropping all this weight on him? Clint began to shake. Was it because Loki was punishing Tony for Clint's mistakes? Was he making one suffer for the other? 

"Loki!" Clint screamed, fully aware that no one would hear him. "You sick fucker, you bring him back here! Take me! Do you hear me? Take me instead!" Clint sobbed as he drew into himself, tucking his entire body into the small crevice created by the wall's corner. His breath came in pants as guilt and fear tore at his brain, his heart, and his soul all at once. Tony didn't deserve to shoulder this entire burden by himself. Clint was a prisoner just as he, he was a Pet all the same. So why was Loki so content to leave him be and focus all his attention on Tony?

"You think I have been ignoring you, Hawk?" came a silky voice from the darkest depths of the shadows. "Do you crave your Master's attention so soon?"

"Where are you, Loki?" Clint growled, whipping his head around to face the breeze that had tickled the back of his neck. Suddenly, the wall he had been leaning against melted into ebony ink, spilling over him in cold waves that suffocated him. What little air there was in the small space was sucked into the smallest part of Clint's nose, but soon the inky substance had covered his entire face, sealing him in wax and cutting off his air supply entirely. He couldn't move, he couldn't scream. All that registered in his muddled mind was the cold laughter, the derision and the sadism that echoed all around him. _Loki_. 

Just as quickly as he had been bound in the substance it faded away. Clint was left in complete darkness, unable to see even the hand he held just before his face. Again the laughter echoed, chilling him to the bone and making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Just as he turned to face the source of the laughter, Clint felt the floor beneath him melt away. He was falling into an abyss of immeasurable depth. He screamed until his throat was raw and tears ran freely from his eyes, but still he fell. There was no mercy here. There was no pity. 

When he finally fell to a stone floor, he landed on his shoulder. He felt the joint pop and moaned in agony as he felt his entire arm slacken. A dislocated shoulder was very likely. His head whipped around, searching frantically for the chuckles that still cascaded over him, but still they eluded him. He spat at the shadows, looking in futility for Loki. He didn't even know why he was searching for his tormentor. Surely it would all become worse once the shadows receded to reveal the god, but Clint denied himself the safety of this logic and shouted at the fleeting silhouettes that danced across his blurring field of vision. 

"Loki, you fucking bastard!" shouted Clint. "Show yourself!" And, just as Clint had demanded, Loki materialized right before his eyes. He said nothing, just snapped his fingers and smirked. Suddenly there were 2 of him. And then 4. 8. 16. They all bore that same smirk, they all had a glint in their eyes that read "danger." Clint tried to run out of the circle but was blocked by two Lokis that sneered at him and pushed him back. Loki, the real Loki, stepped forward into the circle. He backhanded Clint across the face, easily splitting his lip and drawing blood. 

"You want me to stop ignoring you, Pet?" Loki sneered, delivering a punch to Clint's gut. "You want my attention?"

"I want you to leave Tony alone," Clint said. His voice was small and without breath, but still his words carried the weight of a thousand cries, a million pleas. 

"Why is that?" Loki crossed his arms and observed his pet with a knowing look. 

"Because he doesn't deserve this."

"And you do?" 

"N-no." Clint's voice trembled with uncertainty, with vulnerability. This was just as it had been all those days (those weeks?) ago when Loki had first abducted him. He was so unsure and so guilty for being so weak as to allow Loki to control him with the scepter. But then he had given himself to the god, mind and body and soul, and all had been forgiven. All his sins, his wrongdoings, were rectified by Loki's punishment and his guidance-

"No!" Clint growled, smacking at his head with his one good hand. "Don't you fucking do this. Get out of my head!" 

"My poor, naive little Hawk," Loki cooed, caressing Clint with a gentle hand. Clint had to remind himself not to lean into the possessive touch. "These thoughts are entirely your own."

"You're lying!" He had to be lying. He always lied. He was the god of lies! Clint shook his head furiously and withdrew from Loki's touch. "This is that fucking Tesseract playing with my mind again."

Loki held up a mirror that had seemingly been conjured out of thin air. He held it up to Clint's face. "Do your eyes betray the influence of my Tesseract, dear Hawk?"

They didn't. His eyes were his normal gray. They were lined with dark circles and they were teary, but they were certainly his. So this was him. This was him believing that he deserved torture, that he had somehow been purified by Loki's control. No, this couldn't be. Clint didn't believe that he truly deserved to be punished, to be controlled. Did he?

"What are you doing to me?" he sobbed, locking eyes with Loki. 

"I'm saving you."

**...**

Clint awoke with a start, his breathing quick and his shirt soaked with sweat. It was a dream. He'd been dreaming. He sighed with relief and sank back down onto the cold stone. However, this relief was short lived because, when he tried to close his eyes again and go back to sleep, he realized that something was missing. 

Where was Tony? 

Clint's panic began anew when he sat up and searched for any sign of Tony and could find nothing but the bloodstains left on the floor and his shirt. He cursed and sat back on his haunches. His head was buzzing and he struggled to catch his breath. Loki must have seen them kiss. Why else would he take Tony so soon after a torture session? He was punishing him for their mistake. For Clint's mistake. 

Clint choked out a dry sob and dropped his head in his hands. Everything he did resulted in Tony's punishment. It was so fucking unfair. If given the choice, he would willingly and gladly switch places with his friend. Not because he deserved to be punished, Clint reminded himself, but because Tony didn't. 

"Need you be so dreadfully predictable, Barton?" came a snide drawl. Clint discreetly pinched his arm to convince himself that he wasn't dreaming and cursed silently when he pinched too hard and drew blood. He stood from his knees to face the god. 

"What do you mean?" he said apathetically. He'd forgotten the "sir", the "master", whatever pronoun Loki had chosen that day. And-the disturbing thing was-Clint didn't care. 

"If your nightmare is anything to go by," Loki sneered. "I'd say that you already know what I mean, Barton."

"Where's Tony?"

"Another cell. I don't want my toys stored in the same room if they're going to break each other." So he did know, Clint thought bitterly. Fuck. 

"How are we breaking each other?"

"If only you knew, Hawk." Typical Loki: cryptic, elusive, and unbearably arrogant. 

"Bring him back here. Now."

Loki laughed at that. "I believe you're lacking A), a threat, B), a 'please', and C), a 'sir'. So, request denied."

"Please, sir, bring him back here now," Clint replied sarcastically. His slight grin was soon wiped off his face by the forceful application of the back of Loki's hand, which drew actual blood. You know, as opposed to the kind he was used to in his dreams. 

"You know I never appreciated your snark, Barton," Loki threatened. 

"And you say I'm predictable, Loki?" Clint scoffed and rolled his eyes. His quip earned him another backhand but it was entirely worth it. 

"What would you do to get your precious little Iron Man back?" Loki offered suddenly, appraising Clint with a curious eye. 

"Whatever it takes."

"24 hours alone with me, perhaps? I'd hate to think that you're jealous of Stark because he's been getting all this quality time with your Master."

"'Jealousy' isn't the word I'd use."

"But it is."

Clint bit his tongue at that. It was better to leave this cell with Loki in a good mood than to give him more ammunition for future punishments. He glared at Loki but said nothing else. Silence filled the cell for the subsequent moments while Loki stroked his chin in thought. 

"I'll have the Man of Iron moved back in here during our time together."

"How am I supposed to be sure that you're actually going to keep that promise?"

"Behave like the good pet I've trained you to be and you need not worry about me making good on my word. Now, let's go." Loki turned and opened the cell door, swinging it open and allowing light to flood into the dank cell. Clint made to follow him but Loki stopped him with a click of his tongue. Clint registered that sound in his mind before he registered the following action. He was on his hands and knees before he even realized that the thought had crossed his mind.  _Like a fucking trained dog that reacts to orders before it even thinks about disobeying,_ Clint thought.  _Pathetic._

Loki didn't seem to think so. In fact, he ran a praising hand through Clint's hair before he ushered him through the door. He closed the door with a resounding bang, already concocting the most delicious methods of torture that he would implement on his Hawk. It really had been too long. 

 


	14. The Rebellion of Clint Barton

It felt to Clint like too much of his life was spent in immeasurable fear these days. As he trailed Loki on hands and knees, he remembered his first hours ever alone with the god. 

_Clint's entire mind was filled with a rage that his body wouldn't let him act upon. His eyes might have been shooting laser beams of pure anger if not covered in the suffocating mask of blue. Loki had just strode through his portal and into the S.H.I.E.L.D facility and swept Clint away, drawing no resistance from the latter. Clint felt his rebellion surging through and powering veins that refused to obey him. He screamed inside his head with every ounce of his strength, but still his arm would not rise. He held Loki's blade tightly in his hand, pinching his hand with all his effort, and even still he could not get himself to raise the weapon and strike Loki down._

_"I thought not," Loki said condescendingly. "Hang on to the dagger if it makes you feel better. It's not like it was going to do you any good anyway." Clint wanted so badly to throw that knife directly into Loki's heart, or perhaps his corroded artery, but he could not. The Tesseract had his will by the balls and it wasn't letting go. He just wanted to be able to sneer, to glare, but even that small freedom was denied him. It was like he was watching himself through one way glass: he could watch himself be whipped into submission but could not intervene. They were his thoughts but not his actions._

_"Kneel," commanded Loki. Instantly, without a thought to the contrary, Clint obeyed. He fell with a thud-a painful one at that- to his knees and instantly placed his hands behind his back. He felt exposed and vulnerable and fucking humiliated, but who cared what he thought or felt? He was just a solider following orders, he miserably thought, as Loki shoved his dick down his throat._

Clint was shaken from his reverie when Loki kicked him into an open door. He rolled onto his side with a grunt, wincing when Loki flicked on the lights. It had been so long since he'd seen any light other than that which was emitted by Tony's arc reactor. While his eyes adjusted, he immediately took in the vague surroundings. Every available inch of wall space was covered with mirrors, reflective sheets of glass that made the light much brighter and the grimness of his situation much more prevalent. His shirt was stained with dirt, blood, and who knows what else. His eyes were lined with purple bags and rimmed red by tears he hadn't even noticed he was shedding. The veins of his muscular arms were taut with tension, thrumming with an archer's instinct to flee or fight. But he couldn't do either. He could only take whatever was coming and weather the full brunt of the pain Loki sought to deal to both him and Tony. 

"You will stop crying now," Loki ordered, closing the door behind him. "You know I don't take kindly to weakness, Barton." Clint nodded numbly and wiped his face with the back of his hand. He had stopped crying already, but he thought it better to comply with the order than to argue that fact. Clint stared at Loki from where he sat cross-legged on the floor. Even when standing the man was imposing, so imagine what it was like looking up at him from the ground. 

With an annoying snap of his fingers, Loki conjured a rope. It was dark purple and very thick, the kind you used to make inescapable bonds. Clint's eyes widened and he stood, assuming a fighting stance. He didn't like being tied up. He also didn't like trying to fight a fight he knew he would lose and be punished for starting, but there was at least security in knowing that he tried to fight back. 

"Surely you must be kidding, Hawk." Loki's eyes glinted with malice despite the growing smirk on his face. "I am a god and you are but a mortal. I've never known you to be so dim. I'm a tad disappointed, honestly."

"Torture me without tying me up and we'll both be in grand shape."

"When did I ever mention torture, Barton?"

"It was implied."

Loki laughed coldly, tossing the rope on the ground. "Fair enough," he chuckled. He too assumed a fighting stance and squared off against his pet. Other masters were so quick to punish the disobedient, but Loki found it much more satisfying to indulge them first. It gave them a sense of adrenaline, of reckless abandon, that Loki always loved shattering. If you allow just a sliver of hope, it will never die, and then things can always be exciting, just as they were in that moment. No use in smothering a fire if you would miss the warmth soon thereafter; a flame would suffice to warm the Jotun. 

Clint was a trained S.H.I.E.L.D agent that had been trained in combat for many years. He was a reputable assassin and a talented fighter, always. He was strategic and calm when in battle. And he forgot all of that the second Loki agreed to fight him. He knew that, even if he somehow won, he would just be punished harshly before being tortured. He knew that he was going to be tortured anyway. He knew that it was a lose-lose situation. So he swung first and he swung hard.

Loki ducked swiftly and drove a fist into Clint's gut, drawing every last wisp of breath from his lungs. He then brought an elbow down onto the younger man's back, sending him sprawling on the floor. He kept his back turned but watched in the mirror as Clint rose from the floor, staggered a bit on his feet, and then assumed his stance again. He grinned as he turned around, facing his opponent. He and Clint danced around the room, never breaking their intense eye contact. 

"You cannot win, you naive little boy," Loki sneered. Clint kicked at him but Loki caught his leg and flipped his pet around so his body hit the tiled floor with a loud smack. "You have always been too weak to challenge me. Now I am simply humoring you." Loki brought his boot down on Clint's back before he could scramble to his feet. He stepped onto his pet's neck, keeping him nailed to the floor that was becoming slick with the blood that was running freely from Clint's nose. The leather sole of his boot wrung the tender skin of the archer's neck and he gasped in pain. His arm drew back to knock Loki's leg away, but in a second the god had dropped his knee down onto Hawkeye's back and he was now straddling his thighs and holding the man's arms behind his back. 

"I know that you remember what to say, Barton," Loki said in his silky, patronizing voice. "You've said it so many times, after all."

"Fuck you."

"What was that?" Loki twisted the man's arm far above his shoulder blade, just on the precipice of breaking it. 

"Fuck yo-aaaaah!" Clint wailed, reluctant tears falling from his eyes. He tasted metallic blood on his tongue, either from his nose or the bite marks on his lower lip. In a final attempt to throw Loki off him, Clint wriggled his other arm free and pushed himself off the ground, sending a surprised Loki tumbling off his back. He delivered a forceful kick to Loki's abdomen before retreating a few steps away. His toes pained a bit with the impact, but he felt a surge of satisfaction when he drew a small gasp of pain from the fallen god. His arm was limp with pain but was not yet broken. He quickly wiped the tears from his face and assumed his fighting position again. Loki chuckled before pushing himself off the floor. He grinned at Clint sickly before snapping his fingers and conjuring a duplicate. And then another. 

The two extra Lokis bound a struggling and cursing Clint between them with some difficulty. They secured his arms behind his back with blank expressions. Clint fought against them with less and less energy while the real Loki drew his sleeves back. He was wearing his battle leather and, after some deliberation, decided that he didn't want it stained with his pet's blood. He snapped his fingers and conjured some of the Midgardian clothes he kept offhand. He changed quickly into the black v-neck, athletic shorts, and sneakers. It wasn't as glamorous as he was accustomed to, but it was much more comfortable and easier to rinse blood off of. He wasn't going to hurt his pet too badly right now. He had good things in store for him later. He did have 24 hours, after all. Possibly more if he felt like it later. This wasn't a planned lesson but it was evidently a necessary one. He had both hoped and feared that his Hawk would forget all the lessons he'd been taught when Loki had enslaved him using the Tesseract. He was satisfied to know that some of the more fun things had faded away and the more tedious ones had stayed. That left a lot of room for new creativity. 

He turned back to his pet and, without a word, sent a knee directly into his gut. It was going to be a typical beating: not too messy but nevertheless effective. Fist after fist after knee, elbow, and foot found its way into the muscled flesh of Clint's face, his gut, chest, legs, and occasionally his groin. Soon enough, Clint was held upright only by the Loki duplicates that held him. His face was bruised heavily and caked with blood. His legs were too weak with pain to support him. His bruised torso made every breath ragged and laced with anguish. He almost certainly had two or three broken ribs by now. 

"Are you ready to say it, Barton?" Loki asked tauntingly. He raised an eyebrow at his duplicate, who promptly seized Clint's head by the hair and forced it back so he was looking his master in the face. 

"N-no," Clint murmured, his jaw too tight with pain to accommodate for his words. 

"Shame." Loki tutted and resumed his work. Soon his knuckles were as bruised as Clint's face and his sneakers covered in blood. He frowned: it had never taken this long before. That cursed Man of Iron had given him hope, something to fight for. That would soon be remedied. 

It was another five brutal minutes before Clint broke down and wept, his salty tears burning the numerous cuts and wounds on his face. "Please, please."

"You remember what you're supposed to say. Say it."

"I- I surrender, Master." The duplicates vanished and left Clint to slump to the ground, his wounds not yet severe enough to permit unconsciousness but painful enough for him to crave it. Loki drank in those words like a tall glass of water. He looked upon his pet with such satisfaction, such pride in the breaking of his toy. His puppet was dancing to the strings once again, and even though they bore more weight than they had when he had just subjugated the archer with the Tesseract, this method was much more fun. 

 

 

 


	15. Ok Maybe The Rebellion Wasn't A Good Idea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for slight mention of rape

_"I- I surrender, Master." The duplicates vanished and left Clint to slump to the ground, his wounds not yet severe enough to permit unconsciousness but painful enough for him to crave it. Loki drank in those words like a tall glass of water. He looked upon his pet with such satisfaction, such pride in the breaking of his toy. His puppet was dancing to the strings once again, and even though they bore more weight than they had when he had just subjugated the archer with the Tesseract, this method was much more fun._

Clint lay bleeding on the floor, his eyes screwed shut against the dull pain that pervaded his entire body. It hadn't even been that severe of a punishment, really. He had been expecting much worse. But he had thought for just a second that he had the upper hand. He had Loki on the floor and his boot had connected with the man's ribs. How naive and foolish of him to think that he could somehow incapacitate a god. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. 

Loki looked at his pet fondly, reading his thoughts of self-hatred as easily as he would a book. With a snap of his fingers, he conjured another deep purple rope. Rather than bind his pet quickly and efficiently with magic, he went for the more personal option. He dragged Clint to his knees and pulled the coarse rope around his arms, snaking it across his chest and down his abdomen and then around his legs. It took only a minute before Clint was immobilized by the rope. His arms and legs were bound together, with only a short length of rope connecting them, causing Clint to arch his back uncomfortably to avoid falling down directly on his face. 

Loki dragged his pet right in front of one wall of mirrors and yanked his head back by his hair. Clint was forced to look at what he had become: a compliant, weak little toy. His eyes were red with tears and blood. His shirt was ripped in many places, revealing red gashes that stood out against his lightly tanned skin. He was breathing heavily, but his expanding chest was bound by the rope, which in turn made him breathe even harder. If there was one thing that Clint Barton hated more than anything, it was being tied up. He'd prefer even chains or metal shackles to the coarse fabric of rope. He felt trapped and, even though he was, he hated having to acknowledge it. When he was tied up, he was entirely at Loki's mercy, and it was evident to both of them that he detested that. 

Clint saw the movement in the mirror before he felt it: Loki dragged his fingertips lightly across his pet's stubble. Clint winced and withdrew from the touch, but his ropes only allowed him so much space for escape. Loki smirked and ran his hand tenderly down Clint's face, a sick resemblance of a lover's touch. His fingers caressed gently, not pinching or twisting. It was a softer touch than Clint had felt in a long while. It took only a few minutes before Clint stopped rejecting the touch and actually leaned into it, simultaneously hating how easily he was controlled and manipulated, but also loving the gentleness and calmness of the moment. He watched in the mirror as Loki's deft hands danced across his face; down his cheeks, down across his jaw, and up into his hair. He basically mewled like a cat in heat. 

As this was happening, a small burst of pain exploded at the back of his head. Clint winced but brushed it off as just a migraine. He tried to focus on the gentle caresses but the headache soon grew too big to ignore. The pain started at the back of his head but its tendrils snaked all the way around his skull, invading his eyes and his ears. His entire head seemed to be on the verge of exploding from the pressure. He cried out in surprise when little sparks of agony erupted everywhere in his mind, filling his ears with white noise and making every gentle touch of Loki's feel like fire. Clint screamed and tried to grasp his head in his hands, but was cruelly reminded of his bonds when he lost his precarious balance and fell forward onto his face, which only encouraged the pain in his head. Was he screaming. or was that just part of the white noise he was drowning in? If Clint had strength enough to open his eyes, he would see Loki grinning above him. 

Through all the confusion and blank noise came a stinging clarity, a silky voice that Clint recoiled from. "I can make the pain go away, pet," said the voice. 

"No," Clint managed to grunt. The one coherent thought in his mind was "no". Making the pain go away meant taking away his freedom, his sanctity of mind. He would gladly take all of the pain in the world if it meant he would remain in control of mental facilities. 

The pain continued to grow into a cruel crescendo, making Clint cry out in pain. Just as a plea was about to cross his lips, that same voice wiped away the pain and replaced it with words. 

"You remember the Tesseract as vividly as your own childhood, as vividly as the case file of that Black Widow," said the voice. "Surely you must remember that I designed levels."

And, with that, Clint remembered. The power of the Tesseract was like a staircase: You began at the first step, where all was light and you could see, you had control. Then, with every step, with every part of yourself that you surrendered to it, the visibility would decrease. You would slowly become entirely submerged in the darkness, in the submission. If there were, let's say, 10 steps, in Clint's mind, then he was always stuck at a 3. If a 1 was being in entire control of your mind, then he was a 3. He was dark enough to be controlled, but not so dark that he gave into it entirely. Loki had said that he had heart, so he left Clint enough room to let it shine. A 3 was torturous, it was hell. He was aware enough to know that he was being controlled, but not lucid enough to be able to consistently disobey. There had been a few times that he had been able to break through the dark clouds and see the sunlight, though. Clint remembered vividly his first time disobeying Loki, and the punishment that followed. 

_Loki stepped through the portal with the grace of a King. He fired his staff at the S.H.I.E.L.D soldiers that were foolish enough to fire their puny weapons at him. Clint watched from his nest as Loki shot down man after man. Clint slid down his rope while drawing his gun, freeing it and shooting immediately after hitting the ground. He turned around and found Loki just feet away from him. He drew his gun but the brother of Thor was too fast. He twisted Clint's arm, making the assassin wince slightly in pain._

_"You have heart," he said with a slight grin. He touched his scepter to the man's chest and watched as his eyes turned blue as ice. Clint looked up at Loki with a newfound purpose. a meaning. He withdrew his arm and holstered his gun. The strange alien force ate away at Clint's mind, bending him over the proverbial table. He watched the confrontation between Loki and Fury with more conflict in his heart than he'd ever experienced. Fury was his Director, his boss. But Loki was... Loki was...? Loki. Clint looked up to the portal, which was emitting dangerous amounts of untamed energy._

_"Sir, Director Fury is stalling. This place is bound to blow, drop a hundred feet of rock on us. He means to bury us," said Clint. Inside his mind, he yelled at himself. What was he doing? Selvig said something and then Loki looked to him. In the seconds that followed, Clint had never felt so conflicted. Loki's servant demanded that he draw his gun and kill Fury, but Clint could not. When his arm came up, he could not bring it down, but he could alter his aim a little bit. Rather than shoot to kill, as was Loki's command, he shot to wound. His bullet was delivered with as much accuracy as one of his arrows, he would later assure Loki. He just had a different target than was intended._

_That tiny rebellion, that tiny spark, died soon thereafter in his head. He picked up the case without Loki having to command it. When Loki heard the Director stirring as they left the compound, he shot Clint a look of utter rage. Clint swallowed his fear. He was going to pay dearly for that later._

Clint had been given enough freedom to be snarky and sarcastic, as was his norm, but not enough to truly speak his mind. When they were driving away from the compound and Loki said "it would do better to drive a tad faster," Clint had enough of himself to say "No shit, sir." But he didn't have enough of himself to turn the truck around and go back to the Director, to Agent Hill. It was then that Loki looked at him with interest in his eyes. 

_It was hours later that Clint received his punishment. Loki took him into a separate room of their underground complex and had him kneel in the middle of the expansive floor. He then touched his scepter to the crown of Clint's head and fucked his mind, drawing out each and every sick memory. Budapest, his childhood, all of it. Clint's screams could be heard throughout the entire compound. The pain of his life, the agony he had escaped, it was all coming back. Loki drank in the sight of his convulsing servant like a tall glass of water. He knew everything about Barton now. He knew his weaknesses, his triggers, his desires and his fears. It was empowering to wield such intimate knowledge of a man's mind, especially one so twisted as Barton's. He knew the man's pressure points, and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to try to press all of them._

_"_ What will it be, Hawk?" Loki asked, slowly allowing tendrils of pain to sneak back into Clint's head. "Pain and freedom or pleasure and subjugation?"

"Never fucking again," Clint growled. "I am never letting you back in my mind."

Loki didn't know whether to be frustrated or proud. Clint surely had more tenacity and perseverance than when he'd last been controlled, but Loki was growing weary of dealing with his intransigence. Playing with the man's mind was fun, and Loki longed to break him enough to let him in. Rebellion was cute and sometimes enjoyable, but it was growing taxing. 

"Who of the Avengers might be more willing than you, I wonder?" Loki asked, casually strolling above his pet. "Banner would kneel before me and open his mind before I could even ask, he's that much of a coward. Rogers, he would put up quite a fight, but I'm sure there are a few tender wounds to play with..."

"Stop!" Clint yelled, not wanting to imagine his fellow Avengers under Loki's sadistic control. 

"My brother is nothing more than a bumbling oaf. His mind is easier to understand than even a dog's. The memories of us as children, those are the things that would break him quickly."

"Stop!" Clint sobbed, his head pounding. 

"And the dear Natasha..."  
"Don't. You. Fucking. Dare."

"So many delicious memories tucked away into the darkest recesses of her mind. So many fragile parts, held together only by tape and hope. Her mind's disorganization and entropy is matched only by yours, Hawk."

Clint was about to say something else when an image entered his mind. He watched, helpless, as Loki tortured Nat. He dove into her mind, he forced himself on her. He tortured her with the ghosts of her past. Clint screamed at him, his muscles taut against his bonds, but he could not save her. She called out his name and still he could not save her. The pain in his head grew to such an extent that he vomited. Or maybe that was because of the fear. 

"It's you or her, Hawk," Loki purred. "Make your choice."

"You sick fu-!" Clint yelled, his eyes streaming with the pain in his head. "Take me! Level 2, level 3 if you need to! Just don't fucking lay a hand on her."

"As you wish."

Loki smirked as the scepter slowly descended onto Clint's chest. Clint winced against the sting of sharp metal and the aching of his head, but the next second, all pain had diminished. His head was free of pain, of thought, of pressure. His eyes glazed over in ice and the troubling ache in his heart slowly ebbed away. The part of his mind that was still his registered the level of power as a 3. His greatest fucking enemy. 

Clint wanted so badly to cry, to scream out for Natasha or Tony, but he couldn't. He wasn't strong enough to fight against the Tesseract anymore, to fight against Loki. When he was rescued by Nat and his memory was restored, he almost wept with relief. He had promised himself, in that moment, that he would never again play into Loki's hands. He would die before his mind was toyed with again. And here he was. He was whipped, he was weak. If he was being completely honest with himself, he was scared, too. He was afraid that, now that Loki had him where he wanted him, he would never let him go. He would never again regain his sanctity of mind. He would be Loki's forever. 

As Loki raised his scepter, he watched as a single glittering tear fell down his Hawk's face. With almost 18 hours left, he still had a lot of playing time.  


End file.
